


Moonwater Perfume

by leiamoody



Series: Originals [3]
Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Aristocracy, Courtesan/Aristocrat Relationship, Dead Jedi Uncle, Diary/Journal, Drama, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 25,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiamoody/pseuds/leiamoody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her diary, a courtesan speaks of love, life, destiny, and the Force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Written during The Fourth Veiled Hour

Najahal is glowing through the curtains, shining down upon us. She was once the guide from the holy place of Ysonesse, our glorious and beloved home world of legend. In the days soon after the Deluge, the emergency intervention was attributed to her, the moon goddess, when they came to rescue our people from the floods. They took us away and placed us upon the shores of another planet. Ages upon ages ago, we were given another home.

But somewhere in our blood, this world has never felt like a home. And we have treated the lands poorly, and turned ourselves into creatures so cruel, so harsh, so cold. Locked away at night, or crawling through the streets in the veiled hours seeking the false pleasures of sin. To be honest, it isn't much different in the daytime, when Lisou holds ascendancy in the sky.

Moon or sun, it doesn't matter; we're blessed with nothing. Just cursed with everything that is base and impure in human nature. Such is the nature of life on Deiu.

I am in the rarefied world of Commitment, which is one form of damnation. The second might seem to be worse, for it means no protection for the poor girls caught up in its tangles. Among the dark and dirty corners, the cold duracrete alleys, the crawling vines of the mountain passes...what places to conduct their deeds. Maybe it can be said I at least bear some good fortune in my state, given comfortable beds under my back during my performances. After it's over, when I'm alone in my chamber, I can retreat into the shelter of thick plush blankets and pillows so I can sleep. And I have the protection of the manor, high in the ranges, behind the fortress walls. Isn't it fortunate that I'm here instead of down there? In the city, I would be penniless. I would be at the mercy of any client carting about half a jig in his purse. The only saving grace comes at the end of the act. He collapses into his empty dreams. Only then does the poor girl (it's always girls placing themselves at the whims of the tradesmen and farmers) have a chance to unlock her heart from the prison she has to keep it in.

Surely I'm favored? I've never been forced to lay with a man for money or shelter unless I had some choice in the matter first. Though I'm stuck in Commitment, I do have some free will. It is certain sure that I must depend upon the men of the establishment for survival. If I were cast out tomorrow by the Prestat...well, I'm not young, so what would become of me? The workers would probably still take me for an hour, as sex is so often such an act of desperation that it leaves very little room for conscious decision. I would hope they might take pity on me. But if not, then I would most likely die. A cortigia banished from one of the Houses would never find work among the bars and other gathering places of the dregs. The prejudice of the lower class against the aristos is too entrenched here.

Sometimes I have to ask myself the questions I don't want to feel...the things I don't want to know. Tonight I would have to say, "So, Palai, are you any different? Truly? If the goddess we thought guided us eons ago is nothing more than a moon, then what are you called?" Really, in the end, I can't lie to myself. What is my answer? "Only a courtesan."                              


	2. Written in The Second Twilight Hour

It was such a ridiculous way to be presented to him, having to wear the veil over my face as if he's never seen me before. Perhaps his father did not know we had spoken at the reception four nights ago. Our time in conversation together then was so brief, and we had really only exchanged the most inconsequential of phrases back and forth. Until his uncle came along and pulled me away from the best moment I have had in months. I do not belong to the son. He has not yet reached the Age of Ascendancy, so the heir does not have a courtesan of his own.

But that is about to change. Within seven full circles of Lisou, I will be the heir's first woman. It shall be my duty to initiate him into the ways of the flesh.

This is not how the tradition is normally conducted. To put an older courtesan in control of the first act is customary...but not when she belongs to others of the young heir's family. I was not sent into seclusion like one under Commitment is required to do before she is set to begin the long privileged access to whatever whim her future benefactor desires. And as those desires increase along with his experience, the young man becomes no different than the other spoiled scions of the Houses.

Perhaps that is why I was summoned to the Prestat's offices this morning. He must be taking some sort of perverse amusement in pulling me away from my usual place in his brother's bed, and is now placing the heir under my tutelage. It might be punishment for both of us, because we spoke when my usual benefactor did not accompany me. While we did not break any laws, we did violate one rule within those heaps of archaic codes of etiquette so entrenched in this wretched society. That rule, of course, is that one who belongs to the Houses does not speak to those in Commitment. So to place his most precious possession in my care is a way to remind us both of our places in the universe. We are both at the whims of the Prestat. But to be honest, I feel that his poor son is even more unfortunate than I am, since he is burdened by the expectations and pressures of one is to inherit not only a title and property, but a family reputation. To be the Prestat of Quodris and a member of one of the five Establishers, those vaunted families who first founded the Prestature back in the unknown days when Ysonesse was still our world, is the greatest responsibility the poor child will have to face in his life.

Can I really say we are being condemned to some horrible fate? His father might view it as punishment, but I prefer to view it as something else. Being given to his son means that I suffer a loss of status; going from the older male to the younger one is looked upon as a demotion in our society. And his son, of course, has to face the stigma of not having a properly selected courtesan for his first encounter. Yet we were drawn together by someone or something...this is obvious. We seem to have some sort of connection with each other that might very well transcend whatever others might view as condemnation for certain improper actions.

Only time will tell.                  


	3. Written at the Third Chime

They are an ever changing blue...his eyes, I mean. I do believe the dear boy has enchanted me. There's no way I could possibly deny this, considering I'm mixing up words. But why should I deny this feeling? It is true, it is mine, and it is glorious!

Everything is so strange now. But life is best when it is extraordinary. And so a new thread was woven into the tapestry of my existence this morning, out in the garden, underneath the nousila flowering arches.

This meeting is part of the endless ritual bound up in the process of introducing an heir to that state which it is deemed he shall have full control of for the rest of his life. Many times, it's a laborious, occasionally frightening, affair, with the heir and his assigned companion going through a round of back-and-forth conversation. He of course talks the most. The courtesan who is wise always keeps her eyes on the floor or the wall while the Prestat Apparent waxes forth on whatever topic he chooses.

But that is unpleasant to think about...and I have no heart for dark matters right now. So I will put that aspect away in an appropriate musty corner of my thinking.

This morning, under the nousila, we sat together, over the second meal, as he had requested. He missed the first due to the fact was up late last night, until the Fifth Veiled Hour to be exact. A very naughty and capricious action, but he was doing something that is actually quite amusing, and nothing I would have expected from the young man. He was wandering about the gallery, with the many dour holoportraits of his ill-begotten ancestors staring down. He was pacing back and forth on a long carpet of exquisite antiquity...it's absurd in some way, but funny...the dear boy was reciting poetry! Out loud, aided by the friendly spirits of the fermented sort. Specifically, a bottle or two of his father's finest Belinigransa helped along his sudden urge to recite 3,000 year old verses while heroically battling the still enemy of an armor suit with a rolled-up scroll. It was his first experience with inebriation. Taking bottles of the finest vintage and most rare sort from the private cellars is not unusual. Almost every child of the nobility tries and fails or succeeds in some silly attempt at rebellion. It's one of the unofficial but necessary foibles the youth of the aristocracy need to do while living in this rigid society. But his act was so minor, really low-key, compared to the escapades that I have heard of other young sons doing. Only two bottles of wine were consumed. The scroll did not suffer from any chipping. Even the suit of armor is none the worse for wear. Perhaps the only thing which was injured somewhat were the words of my favorite poet. But it is recorded that Suiame was most fond of beautiful young men, and I think it likely she would forgive her poems being slightly garbled by a lovely yet drunken creature.

But I'm losing my train of thought...we had our meeting in the late morning sunlight, over a small meal of aleori patis and far too many cups of Cyren Star Dark Kahve. But he needed all the help he could get in banishing his headache. Because of his condition, it was necessary to roll out the awning so the brightness of the day would not have too much of a harsh impact on him.

I told him he could have canceled for a better time. He reached across the table, touched my hand, and said, "Absolutely not. If I had to miss finally talking to you just because I did something stupid, then I have no right to be around you."

An unexpected statement that was sincere. I cannot label precisely how I knew he was being honest and not just making a poor attempt at flattery. His eyes show true sincerity. They are the shining blue of mythical lost seas, and change ever so slightly just like the ocean from deep to light when he is happy. His smile reflects that joy, and it is an expression that tells the truth. Smiles may often lie, but his do not. I'm certain sure of this.

There is much more to tell about this morning, but I must report to the Prestatia's chambers. The heir's mother wishes to speak with me.


	4. Written after Six Bells

The meeting with Her Ladyship was quite pleasant, and a great relief and surprise. Now I can see where he gets his joy of life from...she has such a calm aura about her. My audience with her lasted for two hours, far longer than I had anticipated. The Prestatia was candid about the aspirations she holds for her eldest child. Her hopes for his future are rather different from those held by her husband, or so it would seem. She wants her son to take on further education, and see the galaxy, but not in The Grand Tour tradition. Doing that would entail booking a penthouse suite on the most fashionable star liner, then doing a flying rotation through the Core Worlds. His mother wants him to touch the soil of multiple worlds, and interact with the diverse populations of the galaxy.                                           

For a moment just then, the air in the sitting room felt strange. I am not a Force sensitive, but I remembered that his maternal line, the House Huranz of Novordoras, contributed many children to the Jedi Order. It gave those younglings a chance to leave this forsaken world, and lead lives of purpose. Perhaps he, like many of his ancestors, holds this power.

Not that it could help him now. The Jedi are gone forever. So there's no escape for him.

Again, though, I must turn my mind away from such thoughts...I must finish recording the rest of what took place this morning at our auspicious brunch meeting.

After we had settled in with slices of fresh baked aleori and our first cups of kahve, he started the conversation straight away by asking, "How old are you?"

I had to pause mid-bite at that point. Was he going to reject me because I am older? It isn't unheard of in this society. Several heirs have turned away the courtesans picked for them because they weren't in the first gleaming. As if they have any right to expect that every single one of us are pubescent virgins. How ridiculous.

Surely this couldn't be his intention.

Perhaps he was reading my mind, or else my distress showed on my face, because he said, "I'm sorry. That isn't appropriate. Mother always taught me to watch my tongue. Obviously, those lessons never took to my brain."

Then he reached across the table and touched my hand. (He has lovely fingers. Artistic looking, like they were sculpted). "Again, I'm sorry. I just have a curiosity about people. I like to know about them."

I felt comfortable enough to answer his question. "If you must know, I am twenty-five. Such a crone by our standards." There was still a queasy feeling in my stomach. Having to admit how many years I've existed in the universe is a very uncomfortable matter.

He laughed! "Twenty-five is not old! Unless you're joking, because that is a funny statement."

"Of course I'm serious. Do you know anything about the culture we're surrounded by?" I realized just how much the isolation of being educated solely by tutors in schoolrooms had affected his awareness of worldly matters.

He stopped smiling. "It's that bad...truly that awful?" The poor boy was genuinely shocked."Yes, it is. By twenty, the women in your class have to be married, and must have at least one child by my age. To be considered a wife and mother in our society means old age. For one like myself, the end of youth comes the moment when our first benefactor pierces us."

That stopped our conversation for some time. We were able to get some more pastry and kahve into our bellies before he spoke again.

"Do you like poetry?"

Now this was a pleasant topic, and very close to my heart.

"I adore it. The best art form ever created by any intelligent species."

"I'll have to disagree with you. Drama is a pure use of words, and more active."

"Which makes poetry passive in your opinion. Why is that?" The written word in verse form has always been the highest artistic expression to me. Even when it is spoken during festival time under the moonlight, the words of old never fail to resonate. Poetry is the ultimate manifestation of the soul and its aspirations, the first form of communication humans and other species used to record their origins. Drama certainly has a place in the universe, but it can never surpass poetry.

"Are you planning to teach me that I'm wrong?"

"I shall make it a personal mission to further your education in more ways than you can anticipate."

Blue eyes look fascinating when they are animated by a wicked gleam. "Are you making a promise?" He is clearly going to enjoy our time together. 

"Yes indeed." I'm going to enjoy this too.


	5. Written during Najahal's Last Phase

"Call me Josym."  
   
We had an interesting second meeting, to say the least. With the moon hiding herself until the next phase begins, things around the manor become rather peculiar. On other worlds, it works in the opposite fashion, with the full moon creating odd behaviors. But on Deiu, it is the absence of lunarlight which turns many of us around from our normal selves. Such is the way of things here.  
   
I think the disappearance of Najahal must be the only explanation for why he wanted to speak with me in a closet. To be more accurate, it was a wardrobe room, used to store ceremonial robes. We spoke to each other in a storage space, with only a handheld lumi between us providing some small backdrop of light.  
   
I couldn't resist asking him if the rest of his father's vintage wine happened to fuel this particular choice of venue to have our second talk. As I expected, he was merely influenced by a momentary whim.  
   
"I wanted to speak with you again. And I didn't want to schedule another meeting via my father's secretary to the Cortigiamira," was his response. And honestly, I'm glad for this. A second meeting between the courtesan and heir is often customary. But like the first one, or any subsequent encounters, it must be arranged through the proper channels. Which is fine for impersonal relations...but that isn't the case with Josym and myself.  
   
There. I was able to write his name. It seems like such a simple thing, to put a name to paper. But names carry meaning, and they bear weight in any society. And to not only know his name, but to have the ability to write it freely...and to speak it in his presence without fear of censure...is wonderful.

"Josym." I said it out loud right after he told me it was all right to do it. "Is that an inherited name?" It's customary for the heir to have the name of a male ancestor, which always comes from the father's side, never the mother's. I've been doing some research into the Di'sallach family line (my usual benefactor, Lord Reunahn, who happens to be the Prestat's brother, has enlisted my help in compiling the official family chronicles). Yet the first name does not appear in the Prestat's lineage. I've never checked his mother's family records, so I was taking an educated guess that was where the name came from.  
   
"Yes, though you won't find it in the records. My mother's brother held the name when he was alive." Even in the dim light provided by the lumi, I noticed the frown that came to his face like an uninvited guest. And I knew then that he was gifted with that power which blessed, then ultimately cursed, his mother's line.  
   
Josym holds the Force within his blood.  
   
His maternal uncle was erased from the records because he was a Jedi and was killed in the Purge. Soon after the formation of the Empire, the Prestat had deleted all mention of previous Jedi Knights and Masters from the first official chronicles of the House Di'sallach. There were very few from his direct line, but many generations have married to the bloodline, and have gifted many of the children born from those unions with Force sensitivity. During the course of helping Lord Reunahn in compiling notes for the second chronicles, I found several discs hidden in an unused closet in the library. I knew it would be unwise to show these to him, so I hid them in my pouch, then took them back to my chamber. I've only had a chance to peek at one of them. From what I've seen, these discs contain precious records. What the Prestat could delete from the official family history almost twenty years ago, he could not erase from the annals of galactic ages. These discs contain the names, images, and information about those Jedi ancestors. Josym needed to know about this.

So perhaps it wasn't odd after all that we had our meeting in such a tucked-away location. It gave me the chance to present him with the discs. His past shouldn't remain hidden. He has a right to know where he comes from, and where his potential might lead him.  
   
I had the discs wrapped up in an indigo ribbon. Indigo, the color dearest to my heart. And in the dim light, his eyes were tinted indigo, dark and intense. So they change color according to his mood. How lovely.  
   
When I handed over the special present, he seemed more curious than suspicious. "What is this?"  
   
"We always have to know where we come from."  
   
"I don't understand what that means." He said this with a half smile, which I'm starting to notice is his unique way of showing confusion mixed with amusement. Under the circumstances, that's a very healthy response.  
   
"Read through them, and then you'll begin to understand. But keep them secret. Tell no one about their existence or what is in them."  
   
"Except for you, of course. At our next meeting."  
   
Was he teasing me? This boy should know better than that...which of course he did. "Quite so. I'll require a thirty-page report."  
   
"Thirty pages? How am I supposed to concentrate on that when I have more important matters to occupy my thoughts?"

I didn't need to ask what he meant. His initiation is set to take place during the time when Najahal is bright and full. Not long now...but in the meantime, there are still other chances for more meetings. Which I'm looking forward to...although not in the midst of hanging cloaks.


	6. Written during Lisou's Fourth Passing

There's a busy afternoon ahead of me. It's already been a hectic morning. I barely had enough time to eat breakfast before I had to run into the city for the first fitting of my inauguration reception dress. Standing around for two hours being poked and prodded by two seamstresses trying to fit my breasts and waist into a corset is not the way I want to spend some of my time. And I don't need a corset, for the sake of Amhrita. If my waist got much smaller, it wouldn't exist anymore. But that's not the worst part. No, the heinous aspect comes under the heading of traditional attire. The proscribed costumes for evening functions are based upon centuries of precisely recorded patterns and endless minutiae for such petty things as trimmings and yards of material permitted for underclothes. It even gets down into the pointless details of who gets to wear what color.

Thankfully, indigo is not on the list of colors forbidden to courtesans. So I will put up with trying to move around a ballroom with an overstuffed skirt floating around my ankles...and there is the matter of that dreadful corset which will be encasing my upper torso...plus the awful five-layer hairstyle someone once considered fashionable, and for some reason our society still insists women wear on formal occasions. Among their many other faults, the aristocracy is also style challenged.

Yet this is all for a good cause. In less than two weeks, Josym shall be inducted as a Paladin in the Most Ancient and Holy Order of Chatos. The following night, I shall initiate him into something less holy, not pure, but still esteemed. Time is moving along so quickly! Wasn't it only three weeks ago that our first meeting took place in the garden? Since then, we've had five encounters in total, with the last three in locations much less bizarre than the wardrobe room. On two occasions, we met under the cover of night, in the garden by the fountain. The day before yesterday was our most recent meeting, in the solarium (blessedly, this took place with the sun in full bloom, peeking through the windows. Oh, gorgeous!). Each time we've been together, our words have come fast and free; there are no divisions of class that we like to acknowledge. Let the aristos be damned!

Josym, if he ever decides to accept his inheritance, will make an interesting Prestat: one who is egalitarian, not afraid of change, and truly values learning and art (I'm beginning to persuade him of the beauty in poetry, and he is slowly convincing me there are some dramatic works which are equal to my favorite works of verse). If he doesn't get a chance to grow older in this place, then these qualities that are best in him shall remain intact.

But that can only happen if he doesn't remain on Deiu. I don't know why this feeling exists. It isn't a sense of foreboding...I'm not in touch with the Force, so perhaps it's wrong of me to say whether or not he might face danger by staying here. Yet there isn't fear tied with the feeling. It's more of...an understanding that his future isn't what he was born into. That makes no sense. What other kind of future can he have other than inheriting the Lordship?


	7. Written during Najahal's Revelation

"We're due for a full moon" This is true; in ten days, Najahal shall be high in the evening sky, brilliant, round and in bloom with golden light..always a harbinger of good fortune. That's why both Josym's entry into the Chatos Knighthood and his initiation will take place under the blessing of the full moon.

Josym finds the whole idea amusing. Earlier today, we were back in the solarium, although under the cover of grey clouds and persistent rain. We've found something else in common besides our love of words. We also have a strong dislike for the absence of the sun. For two days now, it has rained, and rained, and rained. It's depressing to see so much water falling to the ground. Perhaps it's some peculiar phobia tucked into our genes from the days of Ysonesse's flooding.

He was at the window, gazing out at the drenched scenery of the garden. "If a full moon comes, do you think anyone around here's actually going to care? I don't think most of the citizens on Deiu care about anything, to be honest. Certainly not what's really important in life." What brought about this shift in mood? What made him sound so jaded?

Perhaps he is beginning to manifest a small bit of his Force power, and he sees some sliver of the future. Or maybe there is something much less mystical and more realistic swaying his mind to such melancholy thoughts. This world isn't healthy for someone who has a bright spirit. If one is a poisonous person, then he or she can exist perfectly in this place, with no damage to their inner self. But if one is pure, then the place of poison can destroy them sooner or later.

"I've spent the past year doing nothing. Unless you believe reading and daydreaming are worthwhile activities. There's so much out there I want to see."

I was caught up in a small piece of embroidery, trying to finish off the final stitches uniting The Star with The Maiden, two obscure mythological figures from the ancient days. The Star floats out from the swaying tendrils of her hair, and is tied to the young girl by six strands of comet dust. Those are represented by six silver threads placed into the fabric as a symbol of the divine link. So I didn't take in the full meaning of his statement at the time. "I think it's an excellent idea to get away from what you know and see what else the galaxy has to offer."

"Mother told me the same thing yesterday during our tea chat. We started talking about my future. I've been done formal schooling for a year now, and since I'm close to hitting eighteen, I should be doing something meaningful with myself." This statement was followed by a sigh. "I've wasted time. Something has to change. I can't keep sitting on my rear thrusters decaying like my supposed peers."

I understood his point. What the other children of the gentry do with themselves after the cessation of enforced times with tutors in schoolrooms is a complete shift into rebellious mode. The majority do a luxury-filled miniature version of The Grand Tour, the tradition of many human societies with young people spending exorbitant amounts of money on useless fripperies, and hopping from one planet to another while sticking to the safety and comfort of the best space liners. They only venture out into the tourist locales, those areas populated with duty-free shops, personal assistants that can be rented by the hour, and corner day spas. And all along the way, not one of them actually takes in those places where they are visiting. Foreign environments they've only seen on the vids or the Holonet, but they aren't fascinated. Only blasé. Dead inside. Boredom, it seems, is genetic.

"Have you ever thought about continuing your education?" Only two more stitches left, and then silver threads would bind the maiden to her celestial companion.

Josym came over to sit on the lounge next to me. "I don't know what I could study. I would only waste my father's money. So he'd probably threaten to chop my head off."

This might have been nothing more than a poorly timed and ill-conceived jest. Yet it could mean something else. Hidden deep in the fabric of the House Di'sallach of Quodris is a tainted secret, at least according to certain rumors. It's nothing specific to be pinpointed. But somehow, the Prestat is involved.

"Has your father ever threatened to do anything harmful to you in the past?"

He shifted. "Father has never said anything specific to my face. But he's hated me long enough that it wouldn't surprise me if some violent thoughts didn't cross his mind before." His voice was tense, and what he said confirmed what I and the other high and low servants were aware of for years. The strained relations between the Prestat and his family are obvious. The Lord of Quodris is a man with a wife and three children only because tradition demanded this must be done for all men of the Houses who were selected by right of providence to lead. A sad reality, yes, but it doesn't provide an excuse for treating his family terribly. I know the majority of the marriages among the nobles aren't friendly or pleasant. The existence of Commitment as an institution is proof of this sad fact.

Deiu is a planet with little hope. Such a terrible place to waste the best years of a man's life.


	8. Written at High Morning

The Star, and the Maiden. In the old myths, they were a pair of figures created to represent divine light and corporeal innocence. The young girl's hair is long, flowing forever bound, for she is always untouched, compelled by no laws to push it underneath a hat or veil, or to keep it tied up like a prisoner. Though she is of the flesh, the Maiden is also immortal. Not an undead creature, but an eternal being. Some cultures might consider her a minor goddess, but she really is more akin to a nymph.

As for the Star, what is there to be explained about it? It's a guide, a protective figure like any of its celestial cousins in other cultures. From the days when Ysonesse was still a populated world, the Star was the companion and mate of the divine innocent girl. Wherever she traveled, whether in the realm of Relion or through the Shining Worlds, the Star was always with her, at her side, behind her shoulder, or above her head, providing needed illumination. On the occasion of her particularly arduous journey through the Surrounds when she was forced to collect a vial of roisine water to cure the Azuro, the Star was her guardian against the dangers hidden in the black mists of the unfortunate underworld. I've wondered why my spirit has been drawn to this pair since I was young. I first saw the classic illustration in one of the early readers when I was three. It's my first conscious memory. I don't remember my parents, or any other home but the Cortigiamira. The Star and the Maiden was my first comfort on the nights when hours were everlasting and the eyes of the lost ancestors gazed down from the sky, watching over everything and everyone yet unable to ease the fears of frightened children in the night. They were woven figures, made of glittering threads woven into a tapestry that hung at the end of the dormitory...too far away from a little one's feet in the dark as she nevertheless crept along the cold floor to fall asleep under it, with the tassels wrapped around her.

I was an innocent once, a child placed into the life of a courtesan soon after my birth by the one I could have called a mother, if I had known her. Perhaps she was young, terrified of being caught in the midst of an illegal pregnancy, which would mean she would be forced out of service. To leave an orphaned infant in the foyer of a courtesan-training academy always means the birth mother was also in the profession. If I had wound up in the streets, then my mother would have been a common prostitute.

In my heart, perhaps I'm still a girl. Is that possible, to retain some semblance of a younger self? After the years of catering to others' whims and desires that could easily tarnish the dreams of who I used to be, it should not be possible. My childhood was far from perfect. But there were moments of peace, of some love, of quiet joy in a certain way of solitude. Those times are sacred to my memory. But they no longer exist within my heart. Or could I be wrong?


	9. Written during lunch

I'm using this time to gather my thoughts while taking a pause between bites of roasted kirim. Or perhaps I should say burned. No, it should be more like charred to within a meter of its postlife. I'm sure the cooking staff meant well by making an attempt to add an exotic item to our humdrum mix of over-the-top dishes we've consumed for centuries. But I can tell they lack the proper experience with rarities from off-world to actually make them edible. Kirim is a small delicacy, only to be found in the Tapani Sector. I'm not sure who was possessed by the idea of importing such a dish here to Deiu. It was probably a sudden whim of the Prestat. He's been given to so many of them recently...most likely to impress his latest acquisition. He's taken up another courtesan, a little gilded slipper made of very flimsy substance, and only sixteen years old. The illustrious House leader replaced Niena, who has been the official mistress in his bedchamber for the past ten years. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her, neither in body or spirit. She was quiet, obedient, and always ready to perform her duty in all ways requested by his Lordship. In the end, though, she committed the greatest sin of any courtesan…she was unable to find a way to stop aging. At twenty-eight, Niena is now considered too advanced in years to be of any use to her benefactor, so he's cast her aside like a careworn tapestry.

I can't say it's surprising. But it still saddens me greatly. Niena hasn't been forced out into the streets, but she has been passed off to one of the Prestat's uncles, an elderly man who I fear doesn't have much time left breathing. Once he dies, it's unknown where she will be tossed next. Perhaps she will be shuttled over to one of the second cousins, if kind fortune shines upon her. If not, then Deity only knows what will become of the poor woman, unless she decides to enter the Sanctuary of Onirona and settle into a cloistered life as a Blessed Sister...

This all reminds me of my present situation. At twenty-five years old, I technically have only five years left before I'm considered undesirable by the established social standards of our twisted society. Either Lord Reunahn shall send to me a lesser male relative of the Di'sallach clan, or Josym will be the one to get rid of me in exchange for a younger companion. Or he might be one of the rare types who sometimes pop up among the heirs of the Prestatures, and he will make an honorable attempt at a proper marriage, one that is in accord with the rules of our state religion. Actually, he might just do that sort of thing; I can tell he would rather be a good husband and stay faithful to his wife. He is decent that way.

It wouldn't help me, of course. The only thing that could prevent me from being pushed into relative oblivion would be the total obliteration of the cortigio. I suppose that I could bow my head with calm grace and enter the Sanctuary, and spend the rest of my life in shadowy cloisters praying for peace and sanity to The Deity. Another dead institution, like the Lordships, like the cortigio, and like the charade that is called a religion on this planet. It's not The Old Way, where such figures as the Star and the Maiden were revered. Eons ago, after the resettlement, the ancient practices evolved into another entity with only certain faint traces of what was once alive and shining like the heart of a Corusca stone. Over the centuries, it has become a gaudy edifice both proud and poisonous, weighed down with decay and pompous circumstance.

I haven't felt inclined to attend services since those required times when I was a child. I do have zien beads wrapped around my waist. I count them during moments when I need to calm my thoughts in the middle of a nervous frenzy, when things in my life are too hectic. This is the only time when I enter into the realm of religion. There simply are no instincts within me for the dogged pursuit of a life that must be lead in seclusion and filled with extreme asceticism. Especially if this lifestyle is mandated by those in charge as the only alternative for my existence after the aristocracy has discarded me.

The words of Suiame on this matter strongly reflect my own feelings: "For it is not recorded on the velvet dark of eternal space that any of us are bound by the names or codes of the old, if the old keeps us in chains. A gardener pulls out the roots no longer alive in order to allow the roots of living plants to flourish. So must we constantly do within our faith."

Now that I think about it, I no longer have an appetite.


	10. Written at the Rising Point of Najahal

It's now three days until Josym's inauguration into the knighthood, and four days until his birthday celebration...and the other notable event of the night. In preparation for the reception, my benefactor, Lord Reunahn, has decided to prepare a grand oration in his nephew's honor. It is supposed to be recited during the banquet, which is an odd return to the great fetes of the past, when this type of entertainment was common.

For a memorial, there would be hours of speeches about the deceased, from preconception to postmortem. For a birthday, there would be much less material to cover about the individual.

I am curious to hear about Josym's childhood incidents. I know he couldn't have been the studious and retiring type. He's too interested in doing things, in being active. Sitting still is rather difficult for him, as I've come to notice. When he is getting involved in a serious discussion, he has a tendency to get up start pacing, or moving about the room and trying to adjust things even if they don't need to be fixed. He has a strong kinetic center, to say the least.

I spent most of the afternoon in the library with Lord Reunahn, pulling out stacks of old datacards to aid in our research. His Lordship gathered up one of the stacks in front of me at the reading table to take across the room to add to the four others on his own table. Which was no problem, as he reads far more quickly than I could ever hope to do in this lifetime.

I didn't hear from him for some time, until he called out, "I've come across a person who might be appropriate to use in my speech." He had come up with the idea last night to tie in certain stories from the many ancestors of the Di'sallach clan as a way to show the roots from which Josym springs. He also decided to weave in some of those ancestors from the Huranz clan, although this breaks tradition, since the heir is only descended from the paternal line according to the law. His maternal heritage should remain unacknowledged except during dowry negotiations.

"Wonderful. Hopefully it's a dashing and colorful figure so we won't have to be bored any longer than necessary." I'll admit a certain attraction to those who are glamorous and unusual. It can only enhance Josym's reputation by attaching his name to that of an established and glorious personage from the past. And I trust him to put on a good show for the evening, yet also provide him with a grand story that blesses his soul with meaning. To know where he is going means that he must know where his roots are planted, to mangle the old saying. (I fear eloquence has escaped me in recent days. Niena's predicament still weighs upon my thoughts. She is doing well at Lord Cirkah's manor, but he has just recovered from a lengthy bout of the Brandy Ague, so his health is precarious. Which only adds to concern that the old boy might pass on sooner rather than later, and that would put her back into limbo once again).

"Would you please hand me that imager next to your elbow?" The sound of Lord Reunahn's voice interrupted my useless line of thought, thankfully. He's a sneaky sort who can easily scoot across the room without creating a disturbance, which allowed him to stand behind me near the bookcase. Actually, to call that thing a bookcase is incorrect, as it only holds the digital wisps of copies of words rather than the true representations of those solid edifices that are truly books. Despite their scarcity in our present days, there are still weighty tomes hidden in personal collections, or academic fortresses. Rare, yes, but they do still exist.

"Have you found something diverting?" I gave him the imager without any deference to custom, in that I did not stand up, or curtsy, or perform any other type of honor-thy-overlord nonsense. Fortune has granted me into the custody of someone who dislikes pointless ceremony. It almost seems as if he emerged from stock other than the puffed and rotten aristos. He has morals, for one thing. Now I'm getting a better picture of the origins of Josym's nature. He is a combination of his mother and his father's brother. I wondered for a moment if there was a time before his birth where Lady Casana and...no, not possible. She has always been faithful to her husband, not only in those early days when he still seemed to love her in a limited fashion, but also in the years since then, after the mysterious incident which drew them apart soon after Josym's birth. The Prestatine has spent those long years wrapped in the relative comfort of prayer and contemplation while her husband has used women to pass the time. No, Jos' father is the Prestat, not his uncle.

"I've come across an old disc that I haven't seen in years."

"What is it?" This mention of an old disc peaked my curiosity. It reminded me of the small cache of discs and cards I had passed to Josym that night in the wardrobe. I've felt hesitant about bringing up the matter with him since that night. Finding evidence of a lost relative among the stacks of genealogical treasures perhaps was the Force showing its hand. But it still doesn't mean we can talk about it without looking over our proverbial shoulders.

"It's a memory record." Lord Reunahn turned towards me, with a small blue opaque disc in his right hand. "This one happens to contain various media related to my youngest brother's medal ceremony." Then he sighed. I understood why this reaction came from a man usually not prone to a stray walk into melancholy. Lord Kenor was the tenth and last child of the previous leader of House Di'sallach. He made a career for himself in the Republic Navy, eventually taking command of the particularly noteworthy corvette Nyneve. He served with distinction at the Battles of Arbra, Cezno, and Wriestel during the Clone Wars. But it was the unfortunate debacle over Vashti where Lord Kenor lost his vessel and his life when a Trade Federation charger sent forth a laser and turned both the crew and the vessel into permanent dust. Only several weeks before his demise, the Council of Ancients honored Lord Kenor with the highest honor that can be afforded to a member of the Houses, aside from the Lordship itself. The Medal of The Rykos Order was presented to him in a ceremony inside the capital at the Lyorita Great Palace. It was a splendid day for the Di'sallach clan, with all the leading members of the twenty-one Prestatures gathered together on such a rare and august occasion. So this memory record contained media related to that day from footage taken by the official holographer.

Lord Reunahn inserted the disc into the imager. "Let's see what the past can show us." He took a seat next to me in the empty chair next to me. Then we both leaned forward to watch whatever was about to unfold.

It took a few seconds for the imager to call up the data; colored opaque lucetene is never the best repository to permanently store information. Soon enough, though, an image flickered, then spread outward from the center, and finally coalesced into something tangible which played just above the table's surface. A scene of grandeur in miniature from only twenty years ago, but it could just as easily been from some foreign era several millenniums in the past.

In the scene before us, we saw a grand outdoor spectacle. What we beheld was the day when Lord Kenor was awarded his medal. Towers of gaily beribboned fabric swayed in a breeze; twenty-one banners, each with the House glyphs embedded into the fabric. Underneath each banner sat representatives from each Lordship. The men, at least: Prestats, heirs, descendants who would never stood a chance of inheriting a title other the one they received at birth. Rising above the assemblage gathered in the quadrangle, up a wide stack of steps, was a dais. On this platform were the major male members of the Quodris line. I recognized them all from their grim visages left behind for posterity in the portrait gallery. From the far left, I recognized the four doddering uncles, including Cirkah, who looked only slightly less elderly than he does now. After them were the five sons of the past Lord who were still alive at the time of the ceremony. (Of course, the four daughters were all tucked away in the city manse). First in the line was Josym's father, then a particularly dashing young man with a full head of hair and the same flashy dress sense that I had come to know over the years since I was first presented to him as a young cortigia.

"Sir, you haven't changed a bit."

"Ah, you flatter a nearly old man. I'm afraid the years have altered me."

"Not very much."Honestly, except for the certain minor physical changes, Lord Reunahn still appears much the same as the younger man in the holo. The two sons between Reunahn and Kenor werem't memorable. At the far right of this group gathered on the platform were the man of the hour, and his father, Lord Girov.

These men were all anticipated faces. But my attention was drawn past this group, and past the podium to two individuals who stood at the farthest edge of the dais. They had just come into frame, up the steps from the gathering down in the forecourt. They weren't part of the Di'sallachs. And one of them was a woman. Definitely not a normal face to see at one of the usual male-only ceremonies. Someone who may have been a man, woman, or something else accompanied her. The other being was definitely a Jedi, since they were clad in the brown robe so typical of those mystics, with the hood drawn up around the head, so their face was obscured. But I was able to discern the woman's identity...”Lady Casana!"

Lord Reunahn peered at the image. "She came with her brother and wished to speak with Father about an urgent matter. We never found out what was so important that she was willing to break protocol."

I was less interested in the reason for this appearance than the identity of the knight accompanying Josym's mother. It could only be one person. Her brother. This was my first view of Josym Huranz, the last Jedi of his clan.

"How odd that we should come across his image so near to a certain someone's birthday. Would it not make for an interesting gift if my dear nephew were to see what is contained on this disc?"

I looked over at him. "You already had the disc hidden away before now."

He reached out and turned off the imager. "It was tucked away in one of the storage closets. Unused dusty places are a perfect place to hide items of historical interest which also are suppressed by the orders of unenlightened individuals."

So I wasn't the only one who dared to venture into those spots. I was never consciously searching for anything hidden the day I found the records I handed over to Josym. An unseen force drew me towards the second closet. I wondered if it was the same way for my benefactor.

Apparently, he either was able to read my mind for the first and last time, or else the mood in the air was such that it was obvious he needed to explain the circumstances surrounding his discovery of the disc. "I could not possibly tell you what prompted my excursion into a storage closet. It was all very strange. I was pulled towards it, barely aware of what I was doing even when I opened the door. And there it was, sitting alone on this shelf that was far less dusty than one might expect to find in a space that has remained behind a locked door for Deity knows how long."

How odd, as those were the exact circumstances under which I found those items now in Josym's possession. How could things tucked away years ago by someone eager to keep them away from the cut-and-obliterate editing of the Prestat suddenly turn up in such an obvious location? Not once, but twice, within weeks of each occurrence.

Certain sure, there are strange events afoot.


	11. Written at Najahal's Crowning

Tomorrow night, the knighting ceremony takes place. Josym becomes part of a false order of paperboard warriors who never actually fight in a battle, who are not chivalric or heroic. But it is the brotherhood of the brave, at least in the minds of the older men who enjoy waxing poetic about that glorious moment when all eyes were focused upon them, and there were no expectations placed upon their heads of being good husbands and fathers, and leaders of our society. It's all so ridiculous.

Once, in days long hidden by the misty past, the knighting ceremony would have taken place outdoors, on a cliff overlooking the glorious expanse of the Northern Sea. But that was when Ysonesse was still a home, rather than a planet of near-legend. And then, the ritual was actually a golden moment, taking place under the natural light of the setting sun. Now, it's performed indoors under the relatively subdued lighting of one hundred candescent torches placed in abnormal arrangements in variously strewn candelabrum perched around the Induction Chamber like golden birds wearing fiery feathered hats. There's incense, tons of it according to Lord Reunahn, all utilized in a vain attempt to mask the smell of smoke blending together into one mass of choking scent. Also... Holy Amhrita, I already know that almost every woman in that chamber will be wearing some type of artificial scents. Perfume beads are traditionally woven into the massive shimmersilk skirts of the wives, daughters, nieces, and courtesans...or at least most of them. Oh, that dreadful stench on a day that is already going to be burdensome, and it will only be made worse when my allergies kick in. I'll have to speak with the house physician and pray he won't try to argue with me when I ask for a double set of prevention shots.

It's strange to feel melancholic for a place one has never seen. Under certain circumstances, a cynical commentator would suggest that I'm suffering from depression over my present environment. Perhaps they would be right. But an observer inclined towards pessimism should easily be able to notice that what is going to take place less than twenty hours from now is pathetic. Many centuries after the Great Deluge and the Resettlement, the cycle of mock pageantry continues.

It wasn't always like this, of course. Once upon a time, the Chatos Knighthood actually stood for something important. It wasn't just a silly birthday present for an heir and yet another excuse for the aristos to gather in a manse and have a celebration. It was an esteemed group of knights, both male and female. Originally, it was known as the Chatos Academy. Founded during the flourishing years of our ancestral home, the academy was intended as a finishing school for those children of the nobility who were gifted with sensitivity to the Universal Energy. Eventually, all those who were Force sensitive were allowed to attend the school, either rich or poor.

Back then, all the ceremonies held true meaning. In the present, everything grand is artificial, including the rituals. Something needs to be done to change things. I don't know how or who will do this, but one can hope for better days.


	12. Written after the Knighting Ceremony

Act One is complete.  

The great drama was held in the Worship Hall of Remembrance over the course of three hours. The grand delusion began with the opening blessing by the High Prelate, which took up twenty minutes by itself, including the silly hand gestures that come with the ancient words of the Convocation Blessing. Making three concentric circles in the air, then the Twin Stars, and finally, after a jumble of other various arcane signs, the Sign of Peace. Then it was on to the first speech, given by the Prestat, giving the congregation an historical summary of the knighthood's origins. It was also the sanitized version, as there was no mention of the Force at all. Two more orations followed, and I can't say those were memorable, as they went into my ears and right out again.

But the condition of the sky and what is contained within the embrace of the night is something to be recorded for posterity. This occasion took place under the patient gaze of Najahal, which is auspicious and a harbinger of great fortune...no matter what Josym thinks.

My mind wandered, and I entered into a reverie brief enough to keep me awake until the star of the spectacle made his entrance. I began to consider the matter of what's going to take place tomorrow evening after his birthday gala. Just like any other ritual, there is a great deal of official nonsense that comes with the loss of virginity for any of the young rich boys.

It starts as a "men only" gathering in the smoking room, with the traditional three shots of irugara, our quirky variety of whiskey. Then the lucky heir is ceremoniously escorted to the courtesan's bedchamber, accompanied by a riot of singing and a phalanx of candles carried by his male relatives. It's akin to a bridegroom being led to the nuptial bed. Once the party arrives at the chamber door, the Prestat knocks four times, and then he calls out, "Prepare, prepare, for the moment is nigh!" Then the door is opened, and the Prestat leads the way towards the bed, followed by his son. The uncles, brothers, and cousins stay outside while the cortigia must stand at the center of the room, alone, clad in a pure white nightgown and robe. The Prestat brings his son to her, holding the boy by his elbow. "This is my treasured one. Teach him well, instruct him deeply in your arts so that he may learn what is necessary for the future." Of course, what the Lord of the Manor really meant was, "Teach my boy just enough about sex so that twin sons might be conceived on his wedding night."

The event is concluded when a holy man, whether the High Prelate or one of his assistants, comes in and sprinkles some of the "acquine spiriato" onto the bedcovers, and murmurs a few words. After this, the party of men adjourns back to the smoking room, leaving the boy and his instructor alone, together.

The two of us, surrounded only by walls and silk-covered furniture, for an entire night. Only one matter shall occupy us...for the first time in my life, I will actually enjoy the act.

It was lucky Josym appeared at the back of the chapel, because I couldn't continue thinking about tomorrow night and hope to focus on the remainder of the service.

Ah, the sight of him, dressed in the robes and tunic of the child-turning-paladin! To say that a man is beautiful might sound peculiar, but how else could I describe Josym in his gold and white brocades? Under the torches, he was, quite honestly, celestial. Blue eyes shimmering, blond and light red highlights glinting, and with a smile he tried to suppress, but only partially succeeded in doing so as he proceeded up the nave. Maybe it's better to say he was like a naughty divinity rather than a pure vessel of creation.

This young man...is glorious.

But he is not carved from marble, or perfect and untouchable. As he proved when he grinned after recognizing me, even though I was tucked behind his family and among the other cortigiara, though this had something to do with my indigo dress and puffy hairdo. But Josym was the star, and he could break the serious routine and take notice of his second favorite female, if his heart desired to do so.

After his "lone journey in a funny costume" (as Josym described what it felt like heading down the aisle towards the altar) was finally complete, he knelt before the High Prelate, and bowed his head in the appropriate fashion as the rite was started with the customary words: "We are children of the Old World. The voices of all our ancestors emanate from our hearts, and every fragment of their personalities is locked within our souls. We have been brought together by the intentions of those progenitors to proclaim elevation of this cherished scion into the Most Holy and Ancient Order of the Chatos Knighthood."

And there was more palaver such as this to follow throughout the rest of the solemn and tedious event. So many words with no meaning behind them. Which isn't to say they never held meaning. Once upon a long time ago, these words were interspersed with phrases that invoked the munificence of the Force upon the head of the young paladin. A first-born son could never become a Jedi in the old days, unlike their younger brothers. But the Force still played a large role in the knighting ceremony.

Now, of course, there is no connection at all, at least under the aegis of our present culture and the galactic administration.

But the Force is still with us, no matter those who choose to deny its existence right now. From the days of the Old World, through the time of the Deluge, into the present, there is a hidden current pushing us along, wrapped around the universe like the arms of a mother. It is still present, and it will always be present, so long as life exists.


	13. Written under the cloud of Darkness

"He wanted me dead."

Mother of Eternity, this was the most horrific statement I have ever heard uttered.

"My own father." He sat on the floor of my bedchamber, gripping the carpet in his fingers as a means to hold onto something solid, to keep his rationality, if only barely. His knuckles went white as they tightened around the fringe cording. AI wasn't supposed to be alive. I was a curse."

His own father wanted him to die because he is Force sensitive. At the time of the Republic's fall, the Purge began, and continued unabated for three years. It still might be going on even as I write these words, but the most intense activity took place in the years immediately after the pall of the Empire descended upon the galaxy. Back then, the Inquisitors might swoop down upon Deiu if Josym was allowed to take even one breath. Or so the Prestat obviously thought. Of course he wasn't afraid for the existence of the manse, or for any of his own flesh kin, though he must have known if the Empire were to darken the Quodris hearth, they would very well do harm to Reunahn, along with his other siblings, and even his widowed mother. Guilt by association is a time-honored reason for executing those one might view as treasonous, even if that association happened to be through marriage, so even his wife would be in danger of arrest and what inevitably follows it. With this in mind, it made sense to the Prestat to destroy anyone who could destory him. Everyone in his circle was a threat.

Especially his son.

If it weren't for the intercession of Lord Arcadin, Jos would not be here. Lord Arcadin had just been elected Head of the Council of the Ancients when he found out from his sister that her husband wanted to put her unborn child to death. Through the grace of the Maiden, his uncle invoked the Law of Primogeniture. Under this code, the life of the heir is held to be sacred above all other affairs of the Establishment. Any unnatural death must be investigated. The methods of detection are thorough, almost on par with those of the Empire, and the faintest stench of murder would be found. (The execution of twenty Prestats within the last three hundred years is excellent proof of this fact).

"Do you want to know something else?" His voice was shaky, and I knew there was something terrible he wanted to reveal. Jos needed to talk. The burden of knowledge could ruin his mind and soul. For his sake, I endured more terrible words.

"Tell me."

He lay down on the carpet and turned away from me. "A hole in the earth," he said softly. "That was where he wanted to put me."

Dear Holy Light..."Do you mean the rubbish dump used by the kitchen staff?"

"Yes." He paused, to swallow away a sob that I knew he did not want to let out. "That hole, two meters down in the terrana, with the rusted grate over top." He shivered. "Well, he took me out to the courtyard." He turned towards me, and those magnificent eyes were so burdened with the weary grief of awareness. "And he took me to that hole, with his seventh glass of blackstar claret in one hand, so he was immune to any misgivings about letting his son know that he wanted to toss him into the oubliette on the day of his birth."

I flew off the bed and went onto the floor. Then I pulled him towards me, placing his head in my lap. I can't alter the past, and there's nothing I can do to shatter the ice and stone gathering around him...around us. I can't defend him from harm. I can't rip the poisonous knowledge out of his soul. All I could do was cradle him in my lap, like a child.

"Dearest, dearest." I stroked his hair, pushing away those tears that rolled down his cheeks. He was worn out; pale, completely devoid of the spark that I've come to cherish.

That was two hours ago. Now, he is in my bed, temporarily asleep. I have the urge to grab something with a serrated edge and dash across the manor into the Prestat's sanctum and slice into his throat, or cut through his ribs and tear out his black heart, if that bastard has any heart at all.

No, no, this is not the time to be ridiculous. Retribution will gain me nothing...or Josym...maybe some day...


	14. Written at The Fifth Veiled Hour

It was back to the wardrobe for us. The second time around, this was a place to hatch an escape plan of sorts.

"Your uncle has put in a request for you to come visit at his manse, at least for a few weeks," I said, after I sat on the floor under a blue shimmersilk cape. I didn't move the thing, because I cared less about my discomfort than the dilemma of Josym's predicament.

Jos was standing over on the other side, tucked in the corner with the same gold and white robes he had worn for his Knighting Ceremony only ten days ago half-draped around his shoulders. To think we could fall down such a steep cliff and tumble into this horrible abyss in such a short time...

"The summer visit. The High Season is coming fast, " he murmured. "At least one tradition I can handle." We had been sitting in the glorified crawl space for about thirty minutes, and those were the first words he had spoken. "That's the Grand Escape?"

"It isn't unusual. You've gone there every summer since you were a boy."

"I was held back last summer because of the botched marriage negotiations." Josym finally knelt down on the floor. "Father thought it best to keep me imprisoned in the manor while Lord Kaalida and his whiny daughter came around and demanded a larger dowry."

That was true. The rumors had fluttered about all through Reunahn's residence during those six weeks. The kitchen girls usually chatter about various things that are of interest to those interested in gossip, but they can work as excellent sources of intelligence. When those gossipy wisps rise up from the kitchens to the bedchambers, then it becomes legitimate information that could be utilized by the wise and quick. So I found out the Prestat of Kaalida wanted a higher dowry than originally agreed upon in the first marriage contract five years ago, plus I also discovered the primary motive for this sudden decision; he isn't known colloquially as "Milord Debt" for nothing. The old boy is a notorious gambler, and chronically deprived of funds. So this is a last-minute plan to come down the mountainside with the precious daughter in tow.

"But it came to nothing," I said. At least we were out of the damned silent holding pattern that has burdened us the past three days, ever since the night of the revelation. "Milord Debt has come back around with his begging hat in one hand and the same old daughter in the other. He's borrowed your father's city residence for this Season. So it seems the negotiations are back on again. And Lord Reunahn has decided it would be good to invite the cavalcade along with the Prestat of Krischire and his rather appealing female offspring."

Josym obviously did not know of this counter offer for his marriage claim. As it was meant to be...my esteemed benefactor had just told me of this scheme last night before I was zipped back to the Di'sallach home. I had been called out of this cloistered insanity to the civilized surroundings that Lord Reunahn calls home. His manse is just far enough from the capital to let those inside keep their individual sanities, but close enough that one can access the few cultural merits of the city. The morning after the night that never should've happened, I received a summons from His Lordship, and had to leave without saying goodbye to Josym.

Forty-eight hours later, I still have no idea what my benefactor wants to achieve. What does he think can be gained by inviting his former father-in-law and the younger half-sister of his deceased first wife to the manse along with the Kaalida party? I can only assume the Prestat of Krischire is interested in making Jos the husband of his only daughter. Reunahn was cryptic about the matter when I asked him to elaborate. So I have no clue why he might want to pair his nephew with his departed wife's sibling. It's not illegal, and from what I have gleaned based upon that gossip circle, the daughter of Krischire is clever, well versed in the arts (she does have a fondness for paintings of the non-holographic kind, which seems like such an archaic interest). Plus she is attractive, especially compared to the portable Bantha that is the Kaalida girl. The only problem she seems to be afflicted with is an overly florid name: Aureielle Lasitreau. Somehow, it's almost beautiful, yet too fancy and sweet, like a slice of parechal cake smothered in rianberry sauce and choesette. Aureielle Di'sallach...well, there's a cumbersome name. I normally don't question my benefactor's logic, but I have to wonder about this scheme without presenting a candidate to the Council of Ancients.

"I don't want to get married."

"What?" Getting caught up in my own twisted labyrinth of thoughts means that I tune out every so often.

"Nobody ever thinks about the kids they're trying to pair up. Maybe some of them don't want to be transformed into baby making machines." Jos swayed back off his knees and thumped onto the floor. AI can't be the only one with some vague ambitions that aren't dynastic."

"There are others among the Prestatines."

"Oh, did you happen to speak with them during those encounters?"

"How many of them?" His right hand was clenched against his thigh, and I wondered for all the worlds just what had him agitated.

I soon received my answer. "How many other men have you been with besides my uncle?"

He was jealous. To think that a courtesan was not passed around like dessert wine is bizarre. I have not been with nearly as many aristo boys as my fellow sisters in Commitment. Lord Reunahn has been protective of me. But he couldn't prevent me from getting pulled away to initiate other heirs after their Ascendancies. In the past seven years, I have been shuttled to ten other Prestatures so I could take away the virginity of those heirs. My will is never my own, so any sadness was tossed aside in favor of approaching the situation with detachment. I performed my duty as requested with each heir, each young man more or less unpleasant than the others. At least I was fortunate to never be assigned as a permanent companion to any of those boys, though the Prestatine of Caduet developed a crush on me.

"I have to go where I'm called. There were others before you, and others shall follow once you're married and decide to upgrade to a younger courtesan."

"I would never do..."

"Of course you will. No matter what your intentions are right now, the longer you stay here, your soul will be poisoned."

"What if I don't stay here? Then I would be a different person, according to your theory."

"Most likely."

"But I'm not like the others you've been with. Believe me. It burns my soul to realize you have to be what you are."

"This is only a state of life. It has to be endured until it's over."

"Any state can be changed."

"Not always. Let's worry about your future. Getting away from here is the best option for you right now."

"What about you?"

"It's not in the flow, Jos. Accept the truth."


	15. Written in the midst of unpacking

Sometimes you need a change of scenery.

We arrived two hours ago, just when Lisou arose from her slumber. Jos was curled up, briefly asleep, looking like an Iego cherub in the dawn light coming down into the limo. I couldn't write in my diary then, since I was too consumed with that divine vision seated next to me.

Right now, he is tucked under the covers, in the Candy Box Suite at the far end of the hall. I'm here in my accustomed bedchamber, in the window seat, with my indigo silk coverlet draped over my shoulders.

Here comes the wind, swimming through the window. The coral and aquamarine bed veils flutter outwards, only on the top since they're bound in canopy form to the four posts. Sometimes, the effect of wind-driven tapestries looks like a sky rising up to meet the ceiling. It reminds me of those times I've been blessed to ride through the clouds on Bespin. Three visits to the world made of Tibanna gas have given me the barest but tantalizing glimpse of the other worlds that lie far away from Deiu. Riding along with the thrantas while in a cloud car is definitely one of the most exhilarating experiences I will ever have in this lifetime.

Life is a contrast of contradictions. Take the homes of two brothers. The Quodris manse is ornate on the inside, grim on the outside. Gold, pink and acidic green predominate, interwoven into overly simplistic and puffy fancy ceiling paintings strewn with vaguely artistic nude females being utilized as accessories by muscular demigods. And the columns-blue Vourosi seastone, creamy aradicite, black obsidio, all towering like old growth redwoods, meant to impress the observer about the magnificence of he who inhabits and holds the keys to the place. But it also reflects the great insecurity that hides in the alcoves of a man who wields power.

The outside of Mtah Di'sallach's home is unlike the cushy and pompous interior rooms. It's big and brown, very masculine, cold, and forbidding.

Here at Lord Reunhan's manse, things are quite different. Start with the carmine brickwork paired with ivory marble on the outside. One could say this combination is gaudy. But that would be wrong. Think instead of it as exuberant.

The interior is grandiose and attractive. Unlike the rooms in the Prestat's house, the public parts of this mansion are different than the private spots where he and his family can relax. Bright shades of multiple colors in the shinosherie style are combined together in the music room, which adds an extra touch of giddiness when I sit down at the cantachord and do a few songs at one of the intimate affairs His Lordship holds every so often. There are the arches flowing up in curves over doorways, carved moldings brushed with coppery aurichalcum, and porcelain tiles painted with feathery brushstrokes...it's wonderful around here.

Then there are the bedrooms. Goddess All, each one is a treat for the eyes. The suite where Josym has taken up residence is a mixed spicy confection of scarlet and white, hence the nickname "The Candy Box Suite". My bedchamber is filled with jewel tones, all picked out by me when I first came here. The others are sumptuous and simple, unique but unified in providing comfortable spaces to rest a weary head at night.

This sojourn away from the manse of Quodris is what Josym needs to restore his spirit, turning it from bleak to bright however long he needs to stay. Even if part of the reason for him to spend the Season under the aegis of his uncle is to find him a wife. Is jealousy lingering in my heart? Perhaps. It makes no sense to feel envious of a woman who is inevitable for his future. One of the first lessons taught at the Cortigiamira is that a courtesan can never hope to marry her benefactor. I understand the truth...but it hurts.


	16. Written at twilight

History and destiny have come to the manor. They are here to open the door for Josym to another life, a new road that isn't about the inheritance of power through wealth. No, this is about a bloodline of a mystical power that stands higher than the sorry concerns of the material world.

Lord Arcadin is here for an extended and unannounced visit. But it does explain the funny little smile Reunahn couldn't hide this morning. Like the proverbial man of the mountain, he kept the secret. A little surprise of great importance, especially now that we know the truth about the third important uncle in Josym's life.

Our visitor unwound a most complicated and tragic tale in the drawing room. Over endless cups of cha and kahve, he brought out some of the hidden antiques stored in the attic of familial history. What glorious, wondrous, tragic, secrets were unveiled over the course of several hours. How do I record these memories that I heard? Where do I begin? At the end, perhaps?

Josym Huranz was thirty-three at the time of his death on Tellanroaeg. The catastrophe of Order 66 took his life, as it did of those other Jedi swept aside during the First Purge. He was shot at point blank range, after he had tried to defend three padawans in his charge from slaughter...

To only focus upon the matter of his death is unjust to the years he was alive. So now I'll shift to those days instead, to provide a better understanding of this exalted son, the last Jedi in a long line that stretched back almost to infinity.

Lord Josym Huranz was the second child and son of his parents' marriage. (This was rare one union of convenience on Deiu where the respective spouses actually loved each other. Love is a real bond among the Novordoras clan). He was born late in the evening, in the midst of a thunderstorm. An odd portent that could have come straight from the screens of a melodramatic holonovel, but Arcadin remembered hiding under his bed while the tumult outside the maisone was taking place. His father discovered him under there several hours later when it was time for him to see his new brother.

Two sons for the Prestature, what is known as the "heir and spare" among stupid people. Such a blessing--until the Jedi came round. I still don't understand how that process worked, or why those strange monks felt compelled to take away children before they were old enough to even form memories in their brains. But Josym Huranz was less than a month old, and two knights arrived to pull him away from Deiu. No message was sent to the Prestat, or the Council of Ancients. Their prestige afforded rights not likely to be challenged in the courts. On Coruscant, far away at the center of the galaxy, the masters felt a new life form emerged into the Force continuum. By their terms, this infant belonged to their collective, and had to be raised by his kind. So he was taken away from one tribe, to be indoctrinated by another. Ah, the circle of growth in all its imperfect glory.

The Huranz clan had no contact with their precious scion until he reached his thirteenth birthday. It was standard practice for the Jedi to create a permanent separation between initiates and their birth cultures. Attachment to any material elements, people and things, was forbidden. Asceticism in many societies seemed the ideal way to pursue all matters of spirit. If this approach is the ultimate means to understanding the divine, I'll never know. But it was agreed upon throughout the ages, and maybe it worked for those groups, so it's useless to debate the merits and flaws of a religious system.

Josym Huranz broke that tradition, not just on his birthday, but also many times during the rest of his life. He wasn't the first padawan to reach out and contact his blood kin. There were very few repercussions from On High when the students discovered their backgrounds, though some elders felt this was an indulgence that should have been prohibited. But this son of Deiu was fortunate to have a permissive master, who encouraged him to restore contact with the kin who let their child join the Order thirteen years previously.

The first Josym grew into a typical offspring of the Novordoras line: strong, not tall, but well-muscled, a fine sportsman, robust, and possessed with excellent health. Like his future nephew, he was a coppery blond with blue eyes, and gifted with a great joy for life. (I can't imagine how a lively young sort could ever have survived within the constraints of the Temple. I suppose there's a certain kind of freedom for some in the restricted existence of the spiritual life. But from the perspective of one who has spent all her years in a confined role, I can't imagine freedom is possible within the tight swaddling of rules topped by restrictions).

Josym The First rose up through the ranks fairly quickly. From the Bear Clan, through the anxious days that passed until he was formally chosen by Master Roisine, and into the start of his career as a knight, he learned the arts of bravery and strength necessary to perform his duties. He went through the Knighting Ceremony at twenty-four, and spent his final nine years traveling from world to world, doing whatever the Council asked. Unfortunately, as he noted in the communiqués to his oldest brother and sister, he was also being sent to do tasks assigned by the Chancellor. He never questioned the dictums of the Code, or the orders passed down from the Dictator-In-Charge and his obedient flock of senators. But in the letters home, Josym revealed all his doubts and disagreements about the actions requested of him and the other knights and padawans in the name of a peaceful Republic. The Jedi weren't meant to be law officers, but Palpatine utilized their services in this capacity anyway.

He served as a General, a well-deserved achievement to be sure. But it was ultimately a promotion borne from necessity, since the ranks of experienced leaders were decimated. Relative youth and limited experience in combat didn't prove the drawbacks for him that might have been the case for another man thrust into the same role. Through almost two years of battles, skirmishes, and the oh-far-too-rare lulls, Josym Huranz proved to be a model soldier: fearless, patient, willing to take up both the lightsaber and blaster. Time passed, though, and chipped away at his essential self. His joy, resilience, especially his faith in the superiority of the Light Side, all seeped away. Only the animated shell of a man remained in name and body. He no longer believed in the Force, not after the Council ordered all among their ranks to participate in acts of legislated murder. His sister noticed the fullness of his devastated soul during the week leading up to her wedding.

Then, one day, it was over. Josym Huranz was cornered like a game animal with three padawans on Tellanroaeg---a single blaster pierce through the chest ended his life. The Novordoras clan lost a bright treasure, yet it was several years until the truth of his demise was revealed to them (through means not yet revealed, which is no doubt for the best at the present time). One curt message from the newly formed Office of Imperial Military Affairs, Internal Security Division was delivered over a standard comm channel. First there was the insincere opening: "It is with deepest regrets that our establishment must inform you of the death of..." Then came the shock---he was accused of murder and suicide. The poorly constructed legal nonsense was designed to put the family into a state of paranoia. Having a Jedi as part of their bloodline might be turned against them under the new regime. Treason has always been a capital offense, but the definition of what counted as a crime against the state includes almost everything under Imperial law. Being related to a known Force user no doubt ranks in the top five. So Lady Casana had every reason to beg for Lord Arcadin's intervention when her unborn child was threatened. Mtah Di'sallach was not making an idle threat that night---he truly wanted to kill his son. I briefly held some hope after the oubliette revelation that perhaps Josym's father was simply an evil-tongue man who was given to saying horrible things when under the influence of intoxicants. Which isn't to say that would be any excuse, but it would mean the Prestat is only a mean and petty ignorant fool. But no, he's a creature far more despicable, and to know that man would take the most traumatic experience of his wife's family and use it to solidify power in his marriage...it's beyond comprehension!! He was, and still is, prejudiced against sensitives, for what reason only his withered dead heart knows and would never reveal even past death.

Yet, in some tiny grace of fortune, he lacked the necessary influence to get rid of his spouse and future heir. If only he had chosen to participate in politics instead of being the typical apathetic aristocrat, then he might have become First Minister and leader of the Ancients' Council. Then it would have been legal for him to practice random acts of petty tyranny, and the freedom to enact revenge against those he despised. Fortunately, he's never been ambitious. Indolence can be a blessing, yes?

The night ended with the weight of past tragedies upon our shoulders; when Lord Arcadin finished his tale, no one seated in the drawing room spoke. What more than silence could be the proper conclusion to the revelations that had poured forth into our brains?

Now Josym can finally begin to fathom the origins of his gift, and the awareness of the truth behind his namesake's life and death. This latter pursuit shall become interesting now that he has inherited his uncle's signet ring. This token of days past will now be a permanent fixture on his right hand, littlest finger, as once dictated by ancient Jedi custom. This precious gift was received upon the first Josym's accession to Padawan. It's a simple circle made from burnished gold chromium, inset with a carving of Najahal in her full ascent regalia. His uncle wore it until he became a Knight. Eventually, it found a refuge at the Maisone Lyris when he came home for Lady Casana's wedding. It has remained in the possession of Lord Arcadin for all this time. He suspected that someday it might prove wise to pass along the heirloom. Now this ring is in the custody of a new and rightful owner. May the Deities grant the Empire shall cease to be a curse of the present, and soon become a cautionary lesson for the future consigned to history texts and memoirs. Then perhaps all that he's learned tonight can actually be used for a purpose.

Given what transpired this evening, I didn't get a chance to speak with Josym about other matters, especially the discs he's had custody of for the last few weeks. Ever since I passed them into his care while we stood in the closet, it's been a mystery what he thinks of the contents. Recent matters have prevented us from discussing it---but since the past is becoming relevant, perhaps we'll get an opportunity to talk.


	17. Written while watching a duel

No, this isn't a real act of combat between two opponents. What is taking place down there in the courtyard is yet another exercise between two young men of the nobility letting go of barely contained energy in a constructive fashion. One of those participants is Lord Sennes Huranz, the oldest son of Lord Arcadin. The other member of the dueling dyad is, of course, Josym.

For the past ninety minutes, they have gone through several rotations in a seven-linked pattern called The Heart of Eternity. It's one of the traditional exercises in _Kishenua_ , the ancient martial art created by Ysonesse Jedi to begin training their students in armed combat. Over the centuries, this practice was taken out of its original and proper setting to be corrupted by the aristocracy; now it is yet another method to instill pointless chivalric tendencies in the sons of privilege. In those days when it was taught at the Chatos Academy, the lightfoil was utilized; an imitation lightsaber was the first step to train aspiring Jedi. Ancient Ysonesse lightfoils are highly prized among collectors of rare antiquities. Even those of more recent vintage still possess luster unto themselves that never fails to catch the attention of those drawn to beautiful objects. Of course, they are indeed to be cherished, since lightfoils and their more powerful cousins are illegal. Nothing that was associated with the Jedi should appear out in broad sight. Yet that doesn't stop two Huranz boys from practicing forms down there; we're all safe behind the gates of Lord Reunahn's manse. Everyone here is loyal to the highest degree, and would not be inclined to report Josym or Sennes for their actions to the constabulary. Which is fortunate, since they might resort to utilizing less civilized objects when their high spirits are truly let loose. I can imagine another night of Belinigransa overindulgence and scrolls unleashed on those poor suits of armor. Or they might have to settle for battle sticks, which are inferior to everything, and apt to splinter. The risk of bruises and worse injuries probably would not appeal to either of them. Well, certainly not to Josym. His exuberance in physical exercise doesn't mean he would enjoy the affliction of cracked bones. Many of Deiu's sons look upon scars and twisted limbs as badges of pride in coming out scathed yet alive from petty skirmishes. Brawls in the streets are taken for granted in the capital. Stupid, silly, and not the sort of thing anyone would find appealing.

In the courtyard, Josym swings around in a half circle, just a fraction behind his cousin, then brings up the foil in a grand arc. "Next maneuver comes from you, Sennes." Only a young man could find something within armed conflict that is enthralling. Sweating, with a smile that could bring The Lost out of Abysos...he's enticing, my dearest charge. Clad in a black sleeveless vest, and the standard third weave catan pants used by all warriors of The Ouroboros during their sessions, with only thin-soled training boots to keep his feet from touching the cobblestones. A boy playing at war, or some formalized ritual that mimics some act of battle.

For a moment, fear bubbles up from a hidden place in my psyche. If this war between the Empire and those opposed to it continues, the universal draft might force even the sons of Deiu's nobility into combat. Privilege is a gift that yields munificence to those blessed by its presence. The children of the lower classes are conscripted into the military, a most unfortunate reality written into the treaty created soon after Deiu formally joined with Palpatine's tyranny. Sons of merchants and innkeepers, even those boys whose fathers hold some form of leadership in the cities, all must leave home for training facilities that do nothing more than brainwash unfortunate children. It's well known how the common citizens feel about the government that rules the galaxy. The majority, both in the capital and every hamlet that lies around the valleys, hate the oppressors.

"So, what's the plan to get our last rotation started?" There's a gleam in his eye, at least judging by the luminescence of his smile. It's a wicked little grin, one I've seen more in the last few weeks, even in the midst of all the sadness that has plagued Josym. I'm awed by this resilience of his spirit, that he could maintain a thread of happiness and almost supernatural joy. It's a quality that rises up from a natural source, an inherent spring bubbling forth from the depths of his soul, a brilliant radiance that I have grown to love.

Love...yes, I did write that word. To be honest, I am not familiar with that feeling; twenty-five years I've been alive, and the emotion held sacred by all humanity is one that I know nothing about except through poetry. The golden words of Suiame have taught me about devotion...no, that's hardly adequate to describe such intensity. Love is devotion, yet it's bigger, stronger, intense, pure, so hard to describe with mere syllables. Suiame did her best with the vagaries of language to educate and illuminate all who read her texts. Eight thousand years ago, she composed odes to a mysterious paramour; sonnets written under the influence of moonlight, wine, and divine euphoria. So I could live vicariously through Suiame's interwoven narratives; days spent in the garden, intertwined together in her bed, and all their encounters suffused with passion and tenderness. She wrote of happiness, pain, anger, running up and down the spectrum of grand insanity that is part of the love experience. Now, I have to compare those feelings she described to what I've had run through my brain these past weeks. Have they been intense? Yes. Have those feelings transformed me? Well, there certainly has been a revolution within myself. Detachment is often required for any courtesan. But this attribute also serves to protect a cortigia against the rare yet sometimes inevitable reality of feeling something strong for her benefactor. Sometimes, particularly in those fresh out of the cortigiamira, attachments are formed between those who serve and the ones they must serve. I don't understand how this is possible; that kind of relationship has no future, even after the Prestatine gains a wife. Courtesans are routinely exchanged for younger models, so any girl who is foolish enough to lose herself in this exchange deserves her disappointment.

Yet, here I am, sliding towards a dilemma. Yes, a strong bond is growing between us. There is a mutual attraction that continues to grow, and I definitely consider myself devoted to him.

Perhaps it should be called love after all.

"I'll do the _volto asundeo_." So Lord Sennes shall make his move in the duel, as custom and practice dictates. The ascension trip step is one complete loop that _Kishenua_ combatants perform as a transition between patterns.

Josym traces his foil along some imaginary line, inches above the dusty sand that serves as covering surface for any impromptu fancy steps. "Wonder how it feels to actually hold this in saber form?"                                                                

His cousin laughed. "Only you could think of something so unlikely."

"It doesnt have to be unlikely." The shimmering silver-blue of Josym' s lightfoil danced against the sky, just for a moment, as he moved the blade in a half arc over his head. That movement is third to last in the volto; it will be Lord Sennes' responsibility to complete the circle by performing the final two moves. He does this in a quick fashion: a forward thrust, then a spin with a flourish twirl from the left...and so ends another excursion into ancient fighting.


	18. Written past The Sixth Veiled Hour

Our evening started with a verbal joust on matters of philosophy. Within two hours, I finally got around to ridding Josym of that pesky virginity.

It was a most satisfactory endeavor; like any first time with a young man, nerves gave way to enthusiasm, and satisfaction was ultimately achieved.

But I'm jumping ahead in my narrative...I'm still quite giddy, even though we finished several hours ago. Ah, well, I shall go back to the cause...

The game was afoot right after Josym plucked one final nibble of soignet crumble off his dessert plate and sent the flaky piece to its temporary resting place. One quick swallow, and then the most bizarre set of words passed forth from my beloved's mouth. "Love grows, love endures, beauty flourishes."

I almost choked on my claret. Had something hallucinogenic fallen into the pastry shell, or possibly the soigna berries were overly ripe?

Reassurance about Josym's mental stability came along with one of his smiles that will probably never cease to cause a flutter in my stomach. "Love and beauty are inseparable. That's what it says in the book."

"Oh, that makes sense." I knew he was talking about a wispy tome of general verse that we passed back and forth across the table. It seems unusual, reading poetry over dinner. But we've been here in the mountains for two weeks, and our meals here in The Candy Box Suite have escalated into excursions through our respective interests. Caught amidst the silky confections of spice red and milky white, sunlight gold and moonlight silver, on the bed covers, the chandelier, the portrait mirror high above the mantel...this room is a vibrant oasis to engage urges both intellectual and otherwise, as we realized tonight.

Obvious circumstances affected our inclinations toward sex. Disenchantment plus anguish brought about by the Prestat's declaration regarding the oubliette clung like choke vines to our psyches. Since we've been here, there's been time for relaxation, and the chance to deepen our relationship. We reached the apogee tonight with the help of poetry. Strange, yes, but why question a method if it works?

While Jos chased down the last of his fruit crumble with some leftover kahve that had gone cold, I placed our little volume on the table between two candlesticks for easier perusal. "Where in this stanza does it mention love and beauty as interconnected?"

"Look at the final line. 'Love grows, love endures, beauty flourishes.' It's glowing like ultraneon. You can't have love without beauty, or beauty without love."

How could love require the illusion of perfection in order to exist? Where did Josym pick up such an idea? The schoolrooms of the patricians have implanted many strange and often pathetic notions that only serve to poison their minds.

Love is pure, it elevates the dissolute, brings peace to those disturbed by loneliness...yet it can also be the agent of so much pain and grief. But this energy belongs to nothing other than itself-good and bad sides, joy sublime and pain divine... love doesn't require another element. Particularly beauty...at least, the mortal version of beauty. There is something intangible which exists within the universe that can be named "beauty". But it's transcendent, not imprisoned by misconceptions of artificial things like the impossibly perfect body that never ages or suffers flaws great and small.

So what does this mean about Josym? Is he that shallow to believe in the impermanence of physical appearance? Does his heart respond to nothing more than lust?

"All emotions belong to the soul." He reached across to point at the final line, and managed to trace one of those magnificent fingers across my wrist. Oh, why did that gesture confuse me?

I pulled my hand away from his grasp. "When did you come across such a funny idea?"

He looked hurt. "Where else would emotions be?"

"The brain. Emotions are biochemical in origin, influenced by hormones to create reactions that mimic actions rumored to be exalted." It wasn't like me to make a retreat into standard biology; the dry, lifeless sound of textbook language falling past my teeth was almost frightening. Was it necessary to pull inward and force myself into detachment?

"That doesn't sound romantic. Blood, tissue, and flesh, but nothing immaterial." Josym shook his head. "Love needs a spiritual basis to make it real."

Now I was confused. His words emanated from idealism, pure and sweet. The utterance of an innocent...maybe I was letting doubt cloud my judgement. How could I believe anything wrong about him?

"Is there anything good about a pairing based on intangibles?" This was a trick question, and perhaps unfair, but suspicion still lingered in my heart. I wanted him to say the right words; he needed to answer my question with "Yes".

Josym reached out again, and I didn't pull away. Whatever the response, I needed to feel his touch.

"The spirit's hard to understand." Practicing the slippery art of beating-round-the-hedgerow, now there's a trait he acquired from his paternal uncle. It's not born from deception, but nervousness. Some people might find this quirk unsettling, for the logical mind thirsts for truth in affairs of the heart. But I learned to enjoy this peculiarity with Reuhan, and now it was something meant to be treasured in his nephew. AWait, did that make any sense?" He frowned; it's always difficult stating one's intentions when feelings are strong but caught round each other like knotted spools of thread. AI mean, the soul is our center, what makes us better than plants." He cringed. AHere I am, rambling like an idiot."

All my defenses gave way after this valiant attempt. "Perhaps you mean to say that the best kind of love requires balance. Harmony between the spiritual and physical is what everyone should have in romance. Does that sound adequate?"

"Adequate is no way to describe this bond." He grabbed my hand. Josym's heart carries all the untapped virtues of brilliance and purity; anyone that will capture his fancy will know those affections as her...mine...eternal gift.

"Tell me you want something more than we're allowed by law." What an odd plea, in the midst of already jumbled circumstances. Yet, not really shocking, since I understand the depth of his nobility, that gentle righteousness which could inspire a great wave of reforms on this world if he decides to chase down a Council seat. Should he ever reach the lofty perch of Second or First, the opportunities for change will be astounding.

"I want anything that will make you happy."

"Funny, that's what I want for us." His thumb squeezed underneath my fingers; that determination shall carry this dear boy to every corner of the galaxy and back again if common sense doesn't inhibit his boldness.

"What sort of union shall we undertake?"

"Like I said, something that isn't legal on Deiu."

"The common law route, perhaps?"

"Second and third sons can get away with that arrangement, if they happen to be widowers or never had to continue the bloodline."

I nodded. It's not uncommon for younger sons of the Prestatures to remain unmarried, focusing their affections upon courtesans. Most of them go through companions like carafes of wine at a banquet, but some remain faithful to individual cortigia for many years. Personal experience is the best teacher in this case: Lord Reunahn always wished to buy me from the Cortigiamira so we could get married. Of course that isn't allowed, so we've lived in another way for seven years.

"I want everything."

"You have to wed a nice aristocratic girl and procreate like herd animals."

"Do you think I'm worried about what other people want me to pursue?"

"You don't have a choice."

"There's always multiple paths for anyone, from moment to moment, until the end."

"Now you're invoking fairy tales to justify twisted logic."

"That sentiment doesn't just show up in _Forby's Venture_. Remember when The Star had to escape from Alyms? He was trapped between five boulders, and didn't think he could find any way out of there." Josym plucked the last fresh napkin from a bread plate, then opened it with a twirling flourish. "There, bound against his will by a large stone quintet, his only hope of freedom prevented by treacherous happenstance, our poor celestial traveler knew only despair as the storm clouds gathered overhead and the heavens opened up with a deluge." His fingers traced across the napkin, then raised it above our heads like a miniature canopy. "Suddenly, down from the Outer World, falling slow, came a little slice of divine intervention. Salmere, the messenger, entered from stage left, the agent of mercy for our intrepid hero. One bolt of lightning from the messenger's palm struck the offensive rocks and sent them into oblivion. Henceforth, The Star was free to clamber down the hillside and back home to his dearest Maiden."

There is a storyteller tucked away in Josym's brain. Extracting a pivotal element from ancient mythology to illustrate a belief...well, that's my idea of romance.

After many weeks of gentle persuasion, especially after his evocation of the old stories, how could I resist the obvious pull from destiny? It was the perfect night for consummation. Of course it was my duty, but it was also my pleasure.

We threw aside those stupid rituals mandated for an heir's initiation. Seduction requires only two components: desire, and the opportunity to act upon that wish for mutual bodily satisfaction. Since both criteria were fulfilled back at our first meeting, the only requirement to bring Josym and I into bed was a pithy exchange of words.

I started the process by conceding defeat in our little debate. "Maybe you're right. Love and beauty are linked. Love is beauty's soul, and beauty is love's truth. Both halves of the equation must exist if we're going to do something unconventional."

"I thought my first time would be rather simple, at least until I've read some manuals." Saucy boy...indeed, he is my best student...hopefully, my last assignment...

So that matter now belongs to the immediate past. In the present, Josym is next to me, and looks utterly sublime in slumber. We've had a fabulous introduction to a realm that is new for him, and, in a peculiar way, feels unique for me. Many times I've been with a young man and brought him across that milestone threshold, but tonight was the first time I've felt alive...

Ah, interruption; my dear one is awake...here comes a hand over my right hip...then down along my stomach...


	19. Written during Contemplation

His conceivable future, or a major component of that possibility, has finally arrived.

Lady Aurielle Lasitreau, the youngest daughter and brightest jewel that belongs to the Prestat of Krischire, is downstairs in Reunahn's receiving chamber, along with her potential groom. Their first meeting can lead to wedded bliss, or cast him back out into society as yet another aristocratic bachelor. I won't see him this afternoon, or tonight, most likely not even tomorrow, as his attention is diverted toward a grand future of inheritance and succession. Dreams of a beautiful wife, vast swathes of property, untold quantities of capital in many banks across the galaxy, and the grand title are Josym's priorities right now. Certainly no room for me in that heady mixture...

Of course I won't meet Lady Lasitreau, not until after the wedding, or she might never cross my path. Many aristocratic wives choose to keep away from their husbands' extramarital companions because of snobbery, occasional bouts of inferiority, and some rare but intense feelings of sanctity. All mothers are bound to meet and approve their sons' first cortigia, as I had to undertake with the Prestatia. Feminine power is basically nonexistent, so anytime a woman can wield some control over her daily life is understandable.

What I saw from the balcony, as our honored guest stepped from her groundlimo, matched those past fleeting glimpses: petite, slender, light golden hair arranged in a stylized naturalistic pile of curls, dressed in shell pink and ivory taffenza. She is lovely. The offspring she provides will be prize candidates in the future: fair haired, artistic, fiercely intelligent.

Genetics are funny, though, and a new generation might not resemble their parents. Red hair exists in the Huranz family, and the Di'sallach genes are filled with potential for brown-haired offspring...

Why am I doing this? Considering his future with someone else...it's not my business. His affairs aren't within my influence. Other societies might allow courtesans to maintain some power over the nobles who share their beds. But in those faraway locales, a paramour of means works independently. Deiu is not such a haven; using the word "courtesan" to describe the life of a cortigia provides a distorted understanding of the bleakness which permeates this existence..."cortigia" belongs to ancient Ysonessean, and its true meaning cannot be described by one term in Basic...

Why, why, do I wander again, once more, through territory familiar and uncontrollable? There are better ways to waste the hours, instead of remaining behind a locked door, observing Contemplation. Running toward solitude because I wish to avoid the chaos inside my heart...if I sought true refuge from everything, I would have run for the mesas, where the Thinking Orders gather among rainbow flowers and blank plains. The Sisters know nothing about worldly travails; their minds are clean, pure voids, forever open to the voices of creation.

Would it be so terrible to join one of their retreats once I'm no longer useful? True, my nature isn't thrilled by seclusion, but it can't be any worse than sitting here getting aggrieved till sunset. Maybe I'll slip down to the kitchens and swipe a bottle of Rosy Pearl...


	20. Written just before dessert

Affairs have mutated from assured into confused...at least I can tap into great quantities of postprandial brandy and soignet with chocolate, because my head will implode unless something substantial can absorb the impact of this revelation.

I refused to pay attention when the appetizers started the evening's festivity. As usual, idle chatter passed from guest to guest just like any other gathering populated with those born to the gold. For a woman carrying a broken heart, the dinner was terrible. My initial consolation was the universal aid for all those distressed: alcohol. Being present at one of the finest tables on Deiu assured the wine flowed, from Bellinigransa to Adalei; the highest quality products of our mountain vineyards were on display, and in our stomachs.

It was surprising that I got seated at the big kids' table rather than being shoved into a dusty corner like any other courtesan. Lord Arcadin is egalitarian, since he permitted a kept woman to be seated among the nobles. Some guests cast quizzical glances in my direction between courses, and whispers floated about the room that I know were critical of my presence. But those folk would not dare to utter anything negative in our esteemed host's presence. He is the First Minister on the Council of the Ancients, the most influential man in politics. Society here is often dominated by the flashy and glamorous, the young and often stupid, but even those fools bow to the decision making power of Lord Arcadin.

I wasn't seated next to Josym. There was a glaring etiquette violation in place with the courtesan among the nobles, why commit another sin against delicate sensibilities by seating her and the young benefactor next to each other? So I was placed between Reunahn and Saschia Huranz, the only daughter and youngest child of Lord Arcadin. Saschia is cheerful, petite, with mixed honey and wheat colored hair falling down past her shoulders, very similar in composure and looks to her brother. She provided a certain amount of distraction from the other young woman seated across the table, next to the Prestatia of Novorodoras. The creature of the hour, the potential heir given for another Di'sallach generation: Lady Aurielle. She chatted with Arcadin's wife, but paid no attention to Josym. The potential bride and groom exchanged pleasantries when first introduced, as dictated by custom. But substantial conversation was lacking between them, a sign of disconnection that doesn't bode well for their union. Is any instantaneous emotional rapport required for marriage? If Jos and Aurielle have a cordial relationship, even without passion or love, that is far better than either party could hope to achieve within their arranged marriage.

Call me terrible, but I found their lack of chemistry reassuring. The jealousy bug has carved little trails in my heart. To see his intended wife didn't create any impression on Josym thrills me.

Something else intriguing transpired across the hours, another knife in the beast (to utilize a tired saying) that bodes ill for the veted match. Lady Aurielle wasn't interested in Josym, but she did cast quite a few merry gazes and words in Lord Sennes's direction. The best-laid plans of landed gentry can be thwarted, by the untapped vagaries of the heart. If there is something true in miracles, then hidden forces are working another pair of destinies for me and...

Biting off more than I could hope for, eh? Just because there wasn't any initial spark between them doesn't mean there won't be some form of connection later in their courtship. The crackling between Aurielle and Sennes is undeniable, and will provide a major impediment against the future Di'sallach coupling, unless they obey traditional dictates and put aside their mutual feelings to allow the marriage. Children of the aristocracy are indoctrinated with the antiquated codes which nourish this beastly society, so Deity knows how many generations suppressed ambitions, dreams, desires, and hopes which ran contrary to the grand designs of their elders. If two were designed to become one, as created by fortune instead of fate, then no mortal could tear it asunder.

After we've finished dessert, then perhaps I can discuss these affairs with Josym. Throughout each course (grand total: six), his gaze was a steady companion that helped ease the nagging anxiety about our situation. At least I'm reassured he will not lose interest in me anytime soon.

Ah well, the bell's rung; time for dessert, the missing seventh course. How much room is left in my stomach for chocolate soignet and brandy? Maybe I should lie down on this drawing room settee until midnight, and let everything settle for awhile?

"Hey." Ah, so my writing has been interrupted by a pair of mischievous eyes and a delectable voice..."I'm ready for some damage. How about you?" Josym reaches out, brushes my cheek, and thrills my heart.

Tonight's revelations will play itself out in the coming days. Whether it culminates in some major event or is nothing more than another road never traveled is yet to be decided by the universe, and ourselves.


	21. Written in joy

A great shift has occurred...that revelation from several nights ago has blossomed into something miraculous for us (at least, I think it's wonderful for Josym, if his enthusiastic reaction forty minutes ago counts as evidence, which it should according to anyone with some knowledge of lover's logic...)

Where to begin? Fine, it all unfolded over several hours during yet another grand ball, where dancing and drinking coalesce into one evening of grandeur (not debauchery; this was a clean affair hosted jointly by Reunahn and Lord Arcadin). Tonight's gala was respectable, decorous; at least until the first dance...I was one half of a guilty duo that committed a grievous sin against etiquette. It's bad enough for a cortigia to spin about the ballroom in front of the nobles, but to dance with one's benefactor is scandalous! One can make an educated guess which monumental transgression against decency I committed with Josym tonight, in public! (Make it a double sin; I wore a red dress. Brilliant scarlet, the color of a woman no longer constrained by shame...off the shoulder, voluminous, unabashed!).

Of course I must go backwards and work up to that awesome finale. The reason for tonight's ball was meant to be the culmination of the protracted negotiations between the Di'sallach and Lasitreau prestatures to marry off their eldest children. Lord Josym (oh, doesn't that look funny?) and Lady Aurielle's grand engagement should have been the apogee of the week's festivities.

One should expect that was the outcome; I dreaded the inevitable, and Josym had literal sleepless nights about the matter. Even Reunahn has partaken of more late night inebriation than usual, and Lord Arcadin seemed quite irritated about being forced to handle the negotiations for his nephew's matrimonial future. Much of that anger no doubt emanated from the lack of responsibility undertaken by Lord Mtah during this affair. The heir's father is legally responsible for marriage negotiations, unless he is otherwise incapacitated or dead. Mtah Di'sallach is neither stricken by a chronic illness nor is Josym's gene contributor presently deceased. No, his father is apathetic, detached from his first-born child's present and future the same as he is careless about politics. That's why Reunahn, his younger brother, is Second Minister on the Council of Ancients.

Lord Mtah's indolence has proven a great blessing to Josym's fate. The Prestat delegated authority for his eldest son's nuptials negotiations to Arcadin and Reunahn, those maternal and paternal uncles who are utterly devoted to their nephew. That combined devotion has ensured Josym is unlikely to be chained within a marital bond that might turn unfortunate. It doesn't mean he's off the market, but it's now certain sure Lady Aurielle shall not become his wife. No, that honor will pass to Lord Sennes.

It was surprising for a minute or three to discover that another Huranz boy will become the Lasitreau daughter's husband. But the evidence for this relationship was obvious at the dinner; the chemistry between them might have lit candles, if such a feat were possible. We discovered the young lovers had begun courting a few months ago, without intervention from their elders. This romance is a pure creation, born from love based upon mutual attraction. True love cannot arise from base motives; only pure origins will engender a bond that will endure across decades, through good and bad, feast and famine. These children of the aristocracy shall be a rarity among their exalted brethren: a true union of equals. One could almost think what's occurred was culled straight from the screens of a latter day fairytale. They certainly fulfill the classical roles of the handsome prince and the beautiful princess, like members of some divine tribe, destined to walk together from youth until death.

Now the subject comes around to Josym and myself. Since Lady Aurielle is engaged to Lord Sennes, another potential bride is no longer available. There is a standard pool of other young females who are suitable for the position of brood wife. Perhaps a few of those distinguished girls shall have larger dowries, since that was the sin that burst the matrimonial bubble for Josym and Lady Lasitreau. Big surprise...Daddy Prestat broke off the negotiations with the Master of Krischire because the latter couldn't provide the correct amount of liquid capital to satisfy Josym's father's desire for yet more riches. Never enough cash, precious metals and gemstones, private lands, stacks of rare wines and spirits, credit accounts...Mtah Di'sallach craves more of those materials he values more than his own family.

How bizarre that the Prestat's mercenary nature gave his child something wonderful! The rejection also is a blessing for Aurielle; she won't have to marry into that diseased clan. I feel guilty about those previous twinges of jealousy against the poor girl. She was placed in the unfortunate quagmire of the aristocratic bridal market. Any daughter of the nobility, particularly one who is beautiful and intelligent, is destined to be a victim of society. Marriage comes first, and perhaps the bride will fall into a love match, but more likely shall need to force some kind of accommodation with the stranger now sharing her bed, and all those other pieces of furniture and every room within the manor. Motherhood brings joy, if the Prestatia's heart will respond to children...In their later years, most of the Prestatias retreat into various diversions: becoming devotees of the cult of Onirona, spending hours tucked away in their bedchambers sewing various bits of tapestry, or engaging in extramarital affairs. The aristocratic wives cannot have male courtesans, because those rare birds don't exist here. But there are plenty of other potential companions to be found among the servants, even their male counterparts in the nobility. In those illicit relationships, maybe the unfortunate ladies find some measure of comfort...one can hope...

But for Lady Aurielle, there will be nothing so empty in her married life, may Najahal and all other deities make it happen. Lord Sennes is a kind man, very much like his father, and shares characteristics in terms of personality with his cousin. It will be a healthy marriage, a perfect union between two decent souls that will last for many years.

Of course, now that Aurielle is betrothed, the future is wide open for Josym. I'm starting to feel every best-laid plan conjured by Lord Mtah for his son will never come to fruition. No arranged pairing with a woman he doesn't know, no inheritance of a poisoned title and family history, no youth transformed into a premature middle age...maybe we can stay together...although definitely not here. But the galaxy is vast, larger than human or alien comprehension; Josym and I could take a ship, fly anywhere (guided by the flip of a credit stick like in those pre-Imperial travelogues starring The Wanderers). What about money? After we flipped that lucky credit and floated away to some distant world, reality would intrude and force us into a daily struggle. The job skills of a boy aristocrat and his intrepid courtesan are limited compared to normal beings. I have a large store of pointless historical knowledge that could be used in a teaching role, although I lack the proper degrees to be anyone's instructor within a legitimate school. Josym is quite skilled in stage fighting and other dramatic skills, but my dearest heart isn't inclined toward war and its brutal realities. If we get to Lacace, perhaps he could audition for a role on the holotube, or possibly the famous stage companies.

At least we can feel safe...There is a legitimate reason for hope, so any number of possible roads toward our shared destiny might occur. Tonight's revelation has brought me a great deal of comfort, and the awareness of a guiding hand that is, or might, be watching over two souls caught in a restricted society both yearning for escape. One revelation lights the new path, and everything now feels brilliant, clear; we've stepped out from the dark, away from omnipresent midnight, into brilliant dawn. Josym and I hold some control over what happens to us, together and separately.

That's why I was the scarlet lady, brazen in my clothing and behavior. Josym took me aside in the sitting room and made a suggestion that initially disturbed my sense of propriety. "Let's dance". At first I thought he wanted to whirl about the little space crammed full of overstuffed chairs and knickknacks. But when he said, "I mean out there," and pointed toward Reunahn's ballroom, I realized his actor instinct was fueled by this rotation of luck.

Well, shame and trepidation only lasted for those moments it required to leave the sitting room and head out to the assemblage...So, we danced.


	22. Written under the gaze of Najahal

"Have you ever heard of Luke Skywalker?"

Standing on the rooftop, watching Lisou disappear stage right so Najahal could star in her nightly pageant...enchantment is a lovely way to describe our background scenery and interlude. The uppermost open air seating (replete with more silk cushions than I have in my suite) that Reunahn installed provides a wonderful vantage point to observe the passage of time: days, nights, dawns, dusks, and every moment which lies between the diurnal and nocturnal entrances.

When I asked Jos the question about Skywalker, I was curious to see if his knowledge about that strange hero was more comprehensive than what I could find through legitimate data sources. It was a misguided assumption, because Josym's confusion was evident; his response proved our levels of knowledge about Skywalker was equal. "I only know he's the person who blew up the Death Star." Then he shrugged. "That's what the latest bulletin says, anyway."

Ah, the weekly broadcast of the Imperial Most Wanted List...standard viewing for many "concerned" citizens, especially in so-called respectable homes, including most of the aristocratic estates. Josym told me about the Prestat's habit; he retreats into the wicked darkness of his study and watches the falsehoods unfold on the vidscreen, savoring exquisite brandy from his cellar. It's a frightening thought: a man seated in a high-backed chair, with snifter in his right hand, letting the images of condemned beings sink into his brain. It's miraculous that son and progenitor don't possess matching temperaments.

"Well, he's also a Jedi, at least from what I've heard-"

"Where did you hear that?"

"Maybe the kitchen isn't a perfect location for picking up rumors." The notion arose yesterday morning when I overheard two maids speaking about Skywalker and his companion-in-rebellion, the Corellian smuggler named Solo. These young girls were engaged in a lively debate about the most pressing concern hormones can devise: which man was more attractive to their maturing gazes. The youngest maid, a recent arrival called Yine, has a preference for Solo, while her companion, a veteran in our company named Celida, maintained Yine's eyes needed to be checked, because obviously Skywalker was the better looking man. Yine's declarations about her treasured rogue included "the way light catches in his eyes" and "he's in trouble with a Hutt! Isn't that fantastic?" Well, Yine is only a few days past fifteen, so her inclination toward a man who lives on the edge of danger is understandable. Celida's affection toward Skywalker is based upon factors like his noble image as the galaxy's savior, and his possible role as a Jedi Knight. Her perspective is more rational, in my opinion. Men who chase danger like Solo might thrill some ladies' hearts and nether regions, but others like me aren't inclined toward scoundrels.

It wasn't until after lunch, when that quick mention about Skywalker being a Jedi finally made an impact. Perhaps my unconscious had sifted through a process of elimination, working out the likely truth of a Jedi that could exist in the galaxy without detection all those years. A young man, perhaps born in the same year as Josym, would not have been capable of teaching himself every skill and trick that a fully trained warrior must possess. Was he a real Jedi, or did he adopt that role to enhance his infamy?

"Like I said, it's nothing but a rumor."

Jos leaned against the railing, his right elbow close against my left hand. "Or some gossip made up by a reporter."

"But, possibly, in a theoretical universe, what if the rumor…?"

"…is true?" He shrugged. "Then I should run off world and find him." Then he laughed.

"Something in the galaxy is changing." Just then, it felt like a ghost walked through my body, and what came past my lips sounded like words uttered from another soul. "Your vocation is calling."

We both stared at each other for a long moment.

Our mutual silence was broken when Jos spoke. "Chasing around the galaxy looking for Skywalker isn't the best idea."

"It's more practical to go among the stars and forge your own path until time reveals the proper day when Skywalker is ready to find other sensitives."

He nodded. "Either choice means I'd have to leave Deiu behind." That note of sadness in his voice...Fortune calls, yes, but it's never brilliant and glorious, because reality destroys illusions. If Josym follows the path laid before him, then it would inevitably lead away from here. If there is a so-called Dark Side, then Deiu is a magnet for that negative energy, if only because there are more corrupt souls around this world than pure spirits who can attract the Light.

"I can't leave you behind." He grasped my hand; those artistic fingers draped over my knuckles, with the fingertips placed against my wrist forced airy thoughts from my consciousness.

"You know that a Jedi was taught personal attachments were forbidden."

"Sure, but that notion belongs to another era."

"If Skywalker is a Jedi, and he does start another order, then he'll toss aside every lost trace of the way things used to work."

"Things went awry the first time, since they were isolated from the real world. Staying that isolated from how life works only leads to disaster." He kissed the back of my hand, like the perfect gentleman. "Contrary to what those warriors of the Light Side believed, personal attachments don't necessarily have to be destructive."

"You have proof the Order's teaching was flawed?" I agree with the assertion that attachment isn't bad, even for a mystic sworn to some higher cause. Love can be the ultimate source of inspiration for anyone...strength to fight any evil, hope to conquer darkness.

"We don't need evidence, Palai." He pointed upward, but the gesture was meant to encompass more than Deiu's sky. "Losing your connection to reality means you lose awareness of everything that occurs from hour to day."

In that moment he and I were caught within this unfolding rapture of what might become real, what is true in the present. It feels like we're part of some ancient myth that has been rewritten and translated for modern times. I'm not sure what story from the annals of mythology fits our situation, although _The Gift of Moonwater Perfume_ strangely comes to mind.

"Remember the wedding of Semais and Najahal?" Many tales fall within the particular mythos of the creator god and his lunar queen, but the story that resonates with me is the one called The Gift of Moonwater Perfume. It's a narrative about Semais' attempt to find the most romantic present for his intended bride. Jewelry wasn't adequate for a deity; what gem could hope to impress the Moon? But the scent of rarefied blossoms combined into one fragrance, with each separate ingredient held together by sacred water, was perfect. But misfortune struck the inventive god when he couldn't find water pure enough to hold the essences of holy flowers in a suspended fashion.

On the nuptial day, Semais presented Najahal with other gifts, but couldn't include the perfume. After much hesitation, he admitted his inability to create the substance. Najahal declared she couldn't desire anything more than his adoration, and then cried. Semais realized tears from his queen were the necessary final ingredient to bind the scents and create the sacred perfume. The water necessary to create the beloved's wedding present had to come from the woman's love of the man.

"I'd make a lousy god."

"Quite the contrary, you possess the demeanor of a naughty angel." I planted a little kiss on his lips.

"But I don't glow, and I'm lacking in the wings department."

I giggled; yes, the action of some besotted girl, shameful under the light of reason, but acceptable up on the roof, with the mysterious allure of evening that contributes to romance.

That exchange took place one hour ago...now, I'm taking a few seconds to write in this diary; seated in a swing chaise, while Josym is conjuring up some aperitifs at the bar. Najahal is seated upon high clouds, once again in full glory. Purple and pink, the last remnants of Lisou's departure, still pattern the lower horizon, while deepest blue flies ascendant for the nocturnal hours.

"Writing again, huh?" As the weeks have progressed, my record-keeping routine has taken up a better purpose than private concerns and reflections. It's evolved into a chronicle, not only about our lives, but a longer compendium about Deiu and its culture.

Jos placed two small glasses on the metal table near the chair. "Allow your humble beloved to propose something radical." Then he sat down in the space created after I moved over to the right on the chaise. "One day, I'll give you the sacred nuptial gift.'

This declaration surprised me. "A gift of moonwater perfume?" Long ago, on the mother world, aristocratic women supposedly received a bottle of moonwater perfume on their wedding days. The ingredients were terrestrial, unlike the mixed ephemera of the mythological concoction; the penultimate ingredient was indeed water from the moon, frozen water extracted from the original Najahal's twin ice caps. Thus goes legend, for no proof has ever surfaced to give it substance.

"I realize it's nearly mythological, just like the wedding present." Jos handed me one glass, filled with Nerys dessert liqueur. "But consider it a promise."

"That we'll always be together?"

"We'll never be apart." He paused, caught in the realization that love cannot be the sole reason for our lives. A greater cause lies out beyond this world, and Jos could very well be required to undertake some great purpose. My place within his new life shall depend upon that role, and his choice in the matter.

Surely his thoughts connected with mine, based upon his response. "I vow, with every atom in my body and every strand within my soul, nothing shall break our union." This display of strength is a primary Huranz characteristic, always born from pure motives connected to strong and good emotions, especially love. Love guided Arcadin to protect his nephew yet unborn against the murderous intent of the baby's father. Casana, unfortunately absorbed into marriage with a poisonous man, defied that bastard to save her firstborn's near-life. In the previous generation, Josym the First challenged Jedi traditions that forbade contact with birth families. He not only established but maintained relationships with his parents, brothers and sisters; in fact, he came to Deiu for his youngest sister's wedding. His nephew continues that grand tradition, both here and perhaps elsewhere.

But all futures ultimately write themselves...for tonight, we're young folk, floating among the stars and Najahal in her blessed golden disguise. Within this fantasy, we exchanged three words: "I love you". Nothing can ever approach perfection in this universe, but the hands of unseen guides are carrying us toward something amazing...yes, a singular destination, not only two separate roads. We have different roles to play in this lifetime, but our greatest endeavor shall be precious. Mutual exchanges of love and strength will nurture and sustain this union, in whatever from our bond shall become in the next few years.

But Jos needs to get off-world before any destiny can be fulfilled. There is one definite possibility...time for a conference with The Two Uncles.


	23. Written before Lisou's First Awakening

Yet another interesting discourse unfolded last evening in the sitting room, gathered around the marble table filled with after-dinner coffee and liqueur. Reunahn's nightly gatherings never lack for vibrancy, sometimes enlightenment, among our companions. Lord Arcadin's presence at dinner for the last three nights has provided unique exploration into areas of Deiu's history not generally taught in the schoolrooms or public learning institutions. The Huranz family is one of the most revered clans from two worlds; their eminence began on Ysonesse, and carried onward to Deiu. They were among that notable group called "The Establishers", a quintet of families that found another planet to colonize after Ysonesse was rendered inhabitable. Their combined political and financial resources allowed the survivors of The Great Deluge new lands to call home.

But last night's discussion took an unexpected path, one that could alter Josym's life. Nothing is definite, but this new course would provide him with the best alternative to his present circumstances and potentially rotten future.

Reunahn, based upon a comment I first broached, first uttered the idea: the subject of Josym leaving here to attend university. Lord Arcadin had attended university on Alderaan soon after his eighteenth birthday, but he was part of a select group of Prestatines who gained permission to go off-world for any extended time. Most heirs are kept imprisoned here, ostensibly to gain a better understanding of the world and its people they will own. No possibility should exist for any heir to leave Deiu, not in the present. But Lord Arcadin thinks otherwise, and has sent messages to a friend in the Advisory Office at the Cultural University on Aeithera.

Finally, there is a way for Josym to leave...other worlds upon which my beloved can thrive, where he can live rather than merely exist...incredible!

Generations of aristocratic children rarely depart from the confines of Deiu's atmosphere to another planet. Aside from The Grand Tour that is undertaken by the sons of privilege, very few aristocrats venture offworld. Dissipation and pleasure are their sole desires. Nothing enlightened can grasp their minds, which explains the lack of universities or colleges in the city and towns. Sons and daughters of the Prestatures are taught rudimentary lessons in tiny rooms not much bigger than Reunahn's cloak closet. The boys receive instruction on subjects considered essential for their futures: primary history (of Ysonesse), secondary history (of Deiu)...rudimentary knowledge of politics, law, and economics. Of course there is no room for literature or the other arts in the aristocratic child's education. The blatant prejudice against scholarly pursuits is rooted within dread of everything feminine; any subject which doesn't lie within the jurisdiction of administration aren't considered practical. The education of daughters is permitted, but in those subjects considered trivial by the Lords, not worthy to be uttered among men. So the girls are taught literature, poetry, painting, art history, and the required attributes like needlework.

What lies beyond the schoolroom for the children of privilege? For the Prestatines and their younger brothers nothing exists but years of waiting for the elder Lords to die and relinquish their inheritances. Young ladies, of course, are quickly married and fulfill their appointed roles as vessels for the next generation. The sons of privilege are rarely involved in day-to-day operations of the estates. Land managers and their cadre of assistants are in charge of the prestatures' daily operations, but the Lords consult with their staff on every matter pertaining to the land and beings that lives on these properties. The heirs and brothers of the Prestats are excluded from this vital aspect of operations. Power demands absolute control of all things connected to the estates, and to give any responsibilities to the heirs would require generosity. Sons of the aristocracy engage in perpetual quests into the capital seeking amusement and diversion. Debauchery is the ultimate goal of any expedition into the city, whether in the brilliance of Lisou's illumination, or under the silvery gaze of Najahal. It's a lonely pursuit, even among the company of like-minded boys who lack the necessary depth to comprehend the void of their mutual dissolution.

Joysm isn't spiritually dead enough to find the aimless path of the disaffected. He's never demonstrated one inclination toward furthering his education. He possesses natural intelligence and restless curiosity which could be utilized in academic pursuits; perhaps he might obtain a degree in Drama, or Holocinema Studies. Even if Jos decides to major in "Undecided" until the final week before graduation, being within the structure of a university could provide him with new experiences that can only aid in the development of his personality. A well-rounded man requires multiple influences, not only from the world of his birth, but from places unknown. Out among the varied beings in the galaxy, Josym will find others like himself; Force sensitives have to exist among the billions of sentient creatures which live on those worlds! The Jedi were eradicated, yet another of that august group has begun the journey toward another day. He shall meet Skywalker one day, perhaps on Aeithera...this must be his destiny!

Jos has mixed feelings about leaving; any sentimental connections that emanate from his familial relationships are balanced with the awful knowledge imparted by his father. Strong love cannot alter the Prestat's declaration on Josym's birthday night about wanting to place his oldest child at the bottom of an oubliette. Staying here can only poison him, turning a pure soul into some creature best left to diseased imaginations.

Yet his desire to explore other worlds, to run away from a planet not called home, is tempered by what he calls "a vital temptation". This alluring element is, no surprise, me. Neither of us wishes to spend any days or months apart, especially since we're still in the "honeymoon phase". Yes, we are in love, and that's wonderful, yet...great sadness comes with our feeling. The notion of Jos leaving for years cannot be grasped with one's abstract heart...to cope with the reality of his departure in my true heart is a matter best left for another day.

Yet, love often requires generosity. My heart grieves, my soul aches, yet my conscience resonates with the obvious understanding of Josym's plight. Beautiful distractions exist on Deiu in several corners; I'm the most obvious distraction, at least for now.

If the Force and fate work together in perfect communion, then Josym could fulfill a possible destiny and follow the path of his namesake: becoming a Jedi. I'm not certain sure how attending university could lead him toward a point in the future when he could begin the journey. But I cannot fathom how this potential new life can begin without the guidance of Skywalker. What chance in a trillion might ever place the last Jedi on the same world during those years when Jos is attending university? The only apparent connection I can see lies between Aeithera with its mother world, which is Alderaan. Certain media reports talk about an influx of refugees from that lost world to Aeithera, in search of a temporary home. One day, a notable Alderaani princess might come to the ancient colony on a mission of mercy...it's sensible to assume the princess would be accompanied by her usual companions, including the Corellian smuggler and the Jedi. If galactic affairs have turned favorable, maybe it will be under those circumstances when Josym and Skywalker finally meet, and thus will my beloved's destiny truly begin...

But Jos needs to leave Deiu if this fate shall unfold. Again, again, that unfortunate truth confronts me. What I need and what Jos needs are now separated on divergent paths. Love is a blessing, yet it's a curse in equal measure. The push and pull of what eases my heart and fulfills any selfish whims doesn't bode well for my beloved's life. Playing the guilt card might keep him with me, but it will cast us both into misery. I must be generous, for the hope of his future, and let Jos go somewhere far away, to a little Mid Rim planet where his destiny shall arrive.


	24. Written on the first day of a new life

The future arrived this morning via one Holonet message. Josym has been accepted into the Cultural University on Aeithera. Like his illustrious maternal uncle, he will depart from this wretched planet to start another life and begin fulfilling his destiny. This new future shall carry him into the galaxy, away from Deiu, away from me...

Oh, to hells with self-pity! Jos is free! He's going to forge a new path until the moment arrives when he meets Luke Skywalker and begins Jedi training. I was unsure if this notion was a true possibility until my beloved's announcement. It felt ridiculous to believe Jos might arrive within Skywalker's ken, but now it feels vivid, concrete, three-dimensional. Of course I don't possess any Force sensitivity, which means I cannot envision the day when this meeting shall occur. But all things that seemed like illusions now feel solid and true.

This revelation emerged from Josym over breakfast. Like all other mornings at Reunahn's manse, we sat upon the rooftop under a gold and white striped cloth that blocked us from direct sunlight. In a whimsical fantasy, one could imagine all three of us rising up into the clouds, passengers on some airborne sailing vessel...over the remnants of briconberry cakes and half-filled glasses of Bellingransa mixed with rubysoft juice, we basked in the sudden glory of the wonderful news. The comm was transmitted from the Provost's office last evening local time, a simple conglomeration of letters and numbers that forms a message of salvation. We chattered like sugar-laden youngsters about Jos's potential existence among many different kinds of people; Reunahn couldn't resist suggesting my beloved could increase his chances of popularity by throwing outrageous parties. "Wine and music gathers all merry souls in one space. From this joyous light, friendships are born."

I understood Reunahn's perspective. For a young man entering his first semesters at university, there is no better means of announcing, "I'm here, world!" than holding court in the midst of his own gathering. I know certain sure Josym can bring together a diverse group of the student population and discover acquaintances that shall become his friends, perhaps a close knit group of Force Sensitives who can seek comfort and refuge against the vicissitudes of a hostile galaxy.

But a nascent Jedi and university student cannot move into his destiny without first moving into a home best suited for a double purpose life. What kind of living arrangements can Jos have during the next four years? The standard dormitories fulfill the basic need for most young students, but I can't imagine him sharing a bedsit with another being save myself. So it's likely he will follow the precedent set by the few heirs who have undertaken this journey and reside in some off-campus house or apartment. Heirs that choose to study off-world are given a stipend which covers basic expenses and some varied extras, but that is all. The general discouragement against leaving Deiu for long periods ensures the intrepid Prestatine shall understand what it means to go against our society's unspoken code. If there wasn't any financial support that comes from the heirs' clans, none of those boys could ever answer the unknown call of adventure into uncharted territory. A closed society is forever threatened by any incursion from outside influences, especially those which emanate from their own children. Change is prevented, and the old ways continue for another two decades. But one can hope for better days via these young men who choose to leave Deiu. Lord Arcadin has done much to insure the passage of some laws that chip away at the oppression that keeps our planet in the dark ages. Although it feels assured Jos will never become a member of the Ancients' Council, but everything he learns on Aeithera can still form the basis of an enlightened new philosophy that trickles down from the upper echelons into the foundation of this wretched place. One day, this change in opinion might force revolution and the upheaval of the Old Ways. From the Dark Age into the Silver Age...but our Silver Age shall occur on a grander scale, and will become a chapter within the galactic Golden Age.

One might wonder how I'll cope during those years while Jos is away...well, Reunahn has found another profession for me, a quite unexpected occupation that is unlike my experience as a cortigia. But Reunahn is going into a new land as well. Yes, my beloved isn't the sole participant in some new path which shall alter one's previously stagnant existence. Earlier in this narrative, I mentioned Reunahn's second marriage. This second revelation that emerged over crumbs of our late breakfast is course-altering for both of us. The declaration of my first benefactor's impending nuptials was tucked within scattered conversation about Josym's future. Right after his uncle's suggestion about throwing a party in order to make friends came this pronouncement: "I'm going to become a father." Bang!, out came the words that startled both Jos and myself. Reunahn has always been a man who is less than enthusiastic around children. This characteristic, along with his desire not to force another generation to endure the Di'sallach bloodline, caused Reunahn to remain childless during his first marriage. But now he's going to venture into the realm of fatherhood, albeit in a roundabout fashion. He isn't procreating, but shall become a stepfather. After the initial surprise dissipated around the table, he told Jos and me about his engagement to Lady Temera Kyrison. I've noticed in recent weeks that Reunahn has disappeared from the manse for several days every fortnight, and had some vague notion that he and Lady Kyrison were acquainted in some manner. But I wasn't aware their interactions were so advanced. Marriage and stepfatherhood? How extraordinary!

So my benefactors are now embarked upon new journeys within their lives. Where does that leave me? The daughters of Lady Kyrison will require a new instructor since their previous governess retired from service. I'm soon to become their governess. Reunahn decided I was qualified for this vocation based upon the educational foundation I received in the Cortigiamira. I was given a comprehensive education that moved beyond the standard curricula for young women on Deiu; the womanly arts including needlework and art history were enhanced by lessons in science, philosophy, and even the basic maths (higher maths aren't valued by anyone, saved for dedicated academes). My affinity for knowledge has been a major draw in previous relations with other men, especially Reuhan and Josym. How could I resist the offer to become the Kyrison daughters' governess? Perhaps this seems like a demotion, but it's actually the only legal upward shift a cortigia can hope to achieve within her lifetime. Not many courtesans shift from their bedchamber role to a schoolroom function; when age catches up to a cortigia, she disappears from polite society (like any courtesan is ever outside the shadows!) and is often compelled to stay on the gray side of respectability by working as mistresses in the unregistered backroom brothels in the capital nightclubs. A respectable profession is rarely the option for retired cortigia. But a fortunate few can ascend into the beautiful purity of educating the aristocrats' young ladies (boys need instructors who lack stains of ill repute). Former cortigia selected for the role of governess are viewed as worthy in spite of the checkered past because of her intellectual gifts. Through years of teaching aristocratic girls, it becomes possible for a courtesan-turned-governess to clear away the past filled with sins and become pure in respectable folks' eyes. One day she might even be allowed to enter the Temple and achieve state recognition as one of The Blessed Women, a group of former courtesans who are "redeemed and reformed". Respectability isn't unattainable for even the worst dregs...forgive me if that questionable perspective doesn't provide me any motivation. I know that Reunahn decided to choose me because he trusts my abilities. I also realize his choice allows me to stay under his legal protection while Jos lives offworld. I can't leave Deiu and stay with him, even though I'm his property. Yet I'm unable to obtain permission for off-planet travel unless accompanied by a male relative of my current benefactor, and that obviously creates an impossible dilemma for me. So Reunahn's job offer protects me in a practical way; I can remain in his custody and can travel whenever necessary.

That is the state of current affairs. Jos will depart for Aeithera in three months, which leaves us both enough/not enough days together. We've begun to plot some weeks during his first semester when I might come to visit. So far we have five possible weeks tucked aside for occasions where I can pop into his new life...see how things are going for him...maybe keep another written record for posterity...But that concern is for those days after he is gone. I still have my beloved in bed next to me, asleep for now. We decided against the pursuit of carnal matters because our spirits craved a better intimacy that transcends physical bonding. All the minutes, days, and weeks that remain until his departure must be cherished, inscribed into memory so that any lonely times will be conquered. Yes, we must be separated in order to keep Josym safe and give him the best chance to grow into a future warrior and leading participant in galactic history. My place in his evolving story will be multi-faceted: lover, spouse, and chronicler. I now understand my regular scribbling in diary holds another purpose beside some thoughts and events organized in a calendar format. Everything contained within this datapad is a first-hand account of a courtesan's life interspersed with the developing tale of a Force sensitive in a hostile galaxy. We are background players on the universal stage, but featured players in our personal romantic/mystical adventure/family drama. (It's difficult to measure one's existence through genres).

What comes next for us? Three months of waiting is a long time for the commencement of Jos's new life, but not long enough for time spent in each other's presence. Perhaps we could escape into the mountains for a hideaway vacation until the day he leaves...or stay here, and simply live within each moment. Sit on the rooftop, watch the sun and moon rise and set, sit in the garden and debate the merits of poetry versus drama, laze about in the Candy Box Suite...I could think of worse activities to pass the weeks. Then we'll go forward onto individual roads, moving into new destinies yet still united in our mutually desired future. Does that future include marriage and children? I cannot imagine how a cortigia would be allowed to wed a Prestatine. Going to Aeithera could be possible; once I get away from Deiu, it would be possible to enter into matrimony anywhere in the galaxy so long as I possess the required identification. But any form of permanent commitment must wait until Jos leaves university. And what if...perhaps I might follow a long hidden wish to see a bit of the galaxy under my own auspices before I might be able to enter into marriage...

But those desires belong to another world that lies upon the horizon. Najahal is glowing through the curtains, shining down upon us. May the ancient holy guide keep us together from now until...well, for a very, very long time!


End file.
